A Series of Firsts
by Larael
Summary: Vignettes detailing the blossoming romance between Elizabeth and James Norrington. Vignette 12 earns this a T rating. COMPLETE! Please read & review! No flames allowed.
1. The First Night

**Authoress' Note: **Hello there! Wow… it's been a long time since I've written anything. Let's change that, shall we? This is basically a collection of vignettes I've been writing over the school year. It is all Norribeth with Willabeth angst in the background. I don't really like how this first one came out, but I'm hoping they'll improve as I go along. All characters © Disney

**Short Intro to The First Night**

My wedding day passed in a blur of light, colour, and muted sound as though I had watched it through the shifting waters of the ocean. Its entirety felt distorted and slightly unreal. Where these feelings had come from I do not know. My solitary vision for years had been to make Elizabeth my wife, and for years she evaded me, flitting in and out of my dreams as often as she did in reality. Only when I asked her father for her hand in marriage did I know my wish would finally become true.

**The First Night**

Pride swells within me as I gaze upon Elizabeth, hovering on the crook of her father's arm, glide down the aisle, a vision of ivory and lace. Hesitantly, she pulls away from him to stand beside me looking small and utterly alone. She doesn't even bother to look at me, but instead looks straight ahead at the reverend as he begins to speak. This will not be as easy as I had thought.

The time comes for us to say our vows and I take Elizabeth's hands in mine. How they tremble! My heart sinks; for I know her shaking is not borne from nervous excitement but rather the suppression of stronger emotions bubbling within.

Hands entwined with mine, Elizabeth plays the part of the adoring bride well. She alternates between staring into my eyes and gazing at a fixed mark above my head. I know she does not really see me for those soft brown eyes are veiled and glazed over with sparkling tears. Finishing the repetition of my vow, I squeeze Elizabeth's hand to provide comfort, and she seems to break out of her reverie. I smile encouragingly, and she blinks at me in utter bewilderment and confusion as though she has never seen me before in her life.

Barely a moment is needed for Elizabeth to register what is happening and suddenly I am wishing she had stayed in her trance. Glistening tears spill from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and I can only hope they are mistaken for tears of joy.

The "I dos" will be the hardest for her, I know, and I am almost afraid to hear what she will say. When the time comes though, I find my fears to be ill placed. Elizabeth's binding vow is spoken in a much calmer voice than I had expected, swift and soft, hardly creating any disturbance in the still air of the chapel. Even her tears have faded into a mere paleness upon her cheeks. Our façade as a blissful couple begins.

Elizabeth is waiting for me in bed that evening with the coverlet pulled up to her chin. Her obvious anxiety does nothing to calm the storm of mixed emotions raging within me. Neither of us are naïve by any mean. We both know what usually transpires on ones wedding night. She is nervous though, and I cannot help being reluctant. I am not the man she wishes to give herself to. With her so fearful and distraught, anything we do tonight will feel like rape to me, and I cannot do that to her.

When I lay down beside her she stiffens in anticipation. I can feel a coldness radiating from her bare skin next to me and it takes all of my will power to remain still. Cautiously I slide my hand over hers and grasp it tightly to let her know that I am just as nervous, just as inexperienced. She pulls away and I know in my heart that I cannot force her to do what she does not wish to. Staring up at the dark canopy above I search my mind, in a final attempt, for words of comfort and love.

Being neither a great orator nor a romantic, nothing comes to mind, and so I turn over and whisper into the darkness, "Elizabeth?"

She does not respond, but I know she is listening from the way her breathing has quieted. I glance back up at the canopy willing its shadows to swallow me up. She continues listening, and still I continue to mull words over in my head, tasting them on the tip of my tongue and then swallowing them down again.

Elizabeth's eyes are on me now watching to see what I will do. I can almost hear the syncopated beats of her heart for they are my own.

"I shan't force myself on you," I finally say, louder than I had intended, "You are my wife, and I will treat you as such. Sleep well, we've had an exhausting day." My words come out forced and more blunt than I had meant them to, but I do not care anymore.

I turn over, away from her so that I cannot see her face, hoping she will not speak. We have made it through the worst, and all I want now is to plunge into darkness where I cannot think or feel anymore. The silence presses in on us, and even our breathing cannot be heard in the stillness of the night. Without a word Elizabeth turns away from me so that we are back-to-back and attempts to claim sleep.

Hours later, though my mind screams with fatigue and my body aches with echoes of the pomp and ceremony of the day, I find myself awake. It is not for those reasons I am conscious, however. It is Elizabeth, who, thinking me asleep, sobs into the darkness.

A dull ache forms in the pit of my stomach at the sound, and I wish more than anything that I could hold her in my arms and cry as well. Our life together isn't supposed to be this way. I am prepared to give her all that I have, and yet I know I cannot give her the one thing she wants most – a different man; a different life. As her crying grows louder, the renting of a broken heart made known, she stifles the sound with her pillow. I close my eyes again.

_Am I really that much of a monster?_

**Authoress' Note: **Hopefully you enjoyed that. Many more will follow I assure you. Until then, please click the review button to give me some good constructive criticism or compliments. I'll take either. ;) By the way, I can't decide whether I like this in 1st person pov or not. If you have any opinions on that I'd love to hear them.


	2. The First Row

**Authoress' Note: ** Yay for more angsty-ness! Don't say I didn't warn all of you that there'd be more. Anyway, this is my favourite vignette so far (I have most of them written you see). I hope you like the title change. It certainly felt more appropriate considering each vignette will deal with first time situations that the Norribeth couple face. Enough of my rambling… Enjoy! All characters © Disney

**The First Row**

Broken china, spilled tea, and salty tears seem to be the order of the day and we haven't even made it through breakfast. Elizabeth has stormed off in a fit of fresh tears leaving me to read my morning paper in peace. Things are not going according to plan, and I voice this sentiment to Betsy as she carries the remains of one of my mother's finest teacups away.

Betsy smiles sadly and pats my arm, "Things will get worse before they get better, sir. That's my experience anyway."

I nod, but am not thoroughly convinced. I feel as though I should run after my wife and comfort her, but I have nothing to say. Having lost my appetite I stand and decide that if all I am to receive is silence and tears from Elizabeth then silence is all she shall receive from me.

Four months of this monotony persist nearly driving me to madness, for after a few days Elizabeth's crying ceases, and she takes up a new hobby to occupy her time: avoiding me. It certainly makes things quieter around the house without the echo of slamming doors and her hurried footsteps, but it is not the alternative I would have wished for. Just when I am beginning to wonder how long it will take me to go mad with grief and despair over her lack of interest in our marriage I receive a summons.

I am due in court on business and am expected to report to the king. Cornering Elizabeth in the library one afternoon I give her the news. Backing away, she nods and lowers herself into a chair. I expect her to say something in turn, but instead she fixes her gaze out the nearest window overlooking the sea, and I am forced to accept that my leaving will have seemingly no affect on her at all.

During the next three months at sea I taste just a bit of how my father felt when he left my mother to sail the sea in the name of England. A longing for female company after becoming used to Elizabeth's presence (despite never really seeing her) and feminine touches throughout the house set in after only a few hours back at sea. Late at night I find myself missing a warm body next to me in bed and the smell of spices that seems to follow Elizabeth from room to room. Who ever said a sailor's first love is the sea was mistaken and obviously had never met any women such as my wife.

Back in Jamaica Elizabeth waits for my return with only Thomas, our manservant, and Betsy, her maid, for company. Whether she misses me or not I shall not know, but I may hope it is so.

My arrival back in Port Royal is unmarked. Every other sailor's lass waits at the dock their expectant faces shielded by every sort of bonnet or hat one could imagine, and though I search for Elizabeth amongst the corseted women I know I look in vain.

I put off going home and head to the fort to finish some paperwork at my office. After having a quick drink I decide it's best not to delay any longer. I do not expect Elizabeth to wait up for me as the hour is late, but there she sits upon the staircase in naught but her nightgown her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The stub of a candle burns low besides her casting a distinct glow over her face. She does not betray her emotions, nor does she stand to greet me, but I can tell she is worried by the way her knuckles appear; white from the pressure with which she has clasped her hands. The first inklings of guilt creep into my stomach as I realise she has been waiting for me.

"Did you have a good voyage?" she asks suddenly piercing me with those brown eyes I have grown to miss.

I swallow hard, "Yes." My voice comes out rough as though it has not been used in a while. "Everything went well. England is as beautiful as ever. I wish you had been there to see it with me."

She nods and looks down at her hands.

"Did. . . did you hear any news of or capture any pirates?"

Elizabeth's question is barely audible in the gloom, but it slices through me like a knife.

My tone is icy as I reply. "No. Rest assured dear William Turner and Jack Sparrow are safe. No doubt they're passed out in Tortuga at this very moment lying in the arms of other women."

My voice has risen though I had not intended it too. I've gone too far. Elizabeth's eyes meet mine in cold defiance as she stands to face me with the stub of her candle in hand.

"How dare you!" she hisses keeping her voice steady, "How dare you assume that I care more about William Turner than yourself!" Tears of frustration pour down her cheeks. "I've given myself to you so that you might be happy. The least you can do is make an attempt at making me happy as well. It's the only way this marriage will work." Her eyes flash in contrast with the tears on her cheeks, and all I can do is stare dumbly at this woman who has barely spoken this much to me in the past 7 months of our marriage.

With that final word Elizabeth blows out the candle next to her, turns on her heel, and marches up the staircase leaving me to ponder her words in the dark. I know better than to follow her, and decide that sleeping in the parlour can't be so bad.

**Authoress' Note: **Thanks for reading! Don't forget to send me a lovely review. Maybe if I give out free cookies you'll be more inclined to press the purple button… Aaand, I still haven't had any feedback on the 1st person POV. Do ya like it? Dislike it? I suppose it may be a bit late to change it now, but you never know.


	3. The First of Many Apologies

**Authoress' Note: **Okay, I'm not so confident about this vignette. It wasn't really intended to be included in the grand scheme of things, however I couldn't leave the Norrie/Liz relationship hanging at the end of that last vignette. I'm all for resolution to be honest, and I was tired of watching them suffer in their private hells. So yeah, things are still not fine and dandy from here on out, but they will be considerably better.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Keep 'em coming! -hands cookies to Nurr, Interested, the Mouse in the Opera House, and Rex Luscus- All characters © Disney

**The First (of Many) Apologies**

The following morning fares no better than the night before. The overcast sky, which is usually sunny during the autumn months of the year, corresponds perfectly with the bitter mood lingering over the house. I awaken early with a dull ache in my neck from sleeping on the parlour settee, and above me I already hear the sounds of Elizabeth's morning routine. Betsy hurries by pausing for half a second to give me a rather flustered look as I sit up and stretch. What a sight I must be.

I do not wait for Elizabeth at breakfast, but eat quickly so that we will not be caught together in the same room. After our heated discussion earlier I'm not quite ready for another confrontation. Just as I slip out the door I hear the _tap tap _of her heeled shoes on tiled floor behind me. I've barely made it. The two of us spend the afternoon locked up in our own respective areas of the house: I in my office, and she in the library. Unfortunately, books and letters of state do nothing to ease my guilty mind and the pain in my heart.

Betsy knocks twice on my office door before entering. She bustles about serving me tea in an unusually muted fashion. I watch her silently noticing every time she glances up at me. She's dying to say something, I can tell.

"Is everything all right, Betsy?" I ask, stirring my tea but not intending to drink it for my stomach aches too much from the tension of the day.

Red roses bloom across Betsy's cheeks as she looks up at me, nodding her head urgently.

"It's the missus, sir. She's quite distraught. I don't know what about of course. . . she said something about an argument. That's all I know. I'm sorry."

I set my tea down gently and fold my hands in front of me, surveying Betsy, who stands before me with a culpable look on her face.

"You heard everything, didn't you?" I whisper into the silence.

She nods sheepishly, "But I didn't mean to, sir! Honest! The whole 'ousehold could hear you as well as me. . ." Betsy trailed off and looked down at her skirt fingering some imaginary speck of dust that had settled there.

Sighing I settle back in my chair and close my eyes. _How long can this go on? _No one should have to live this way; constantly arguing and worrying about the ever-growing menace that threatens to take away what I've worked so hard to gain. William Turner's face materialises in my mind's eye, and I suppress the urge to reach out and strangle him with my bare hands. _He will not take her away from me._

"What do you think, Betsy? Should I speak with her?" I ask, opening my eyes again, "Please, help me. I don't want to live like this anymore."

Betsy is silent for a moment, thinking. When she looks at me it is with the most miserable face I've ever seen on such a young woman as she.

"I don't think she wants to live like this either, sir," she whispers, clasping her hands neatly in front of her.

This idea had never struck me before. Elizabeth has reasons behind her actions and heated words. She grieves for a lost love, and though I have tried to treat her as any honourable man would I have not given her what she wants more than anything– happiness.

I stand suddenly, new thoughts and ideas whirling in my head so that I feel slightly dizzy. Betsy looks startled, and watches me as I move quickly toward the door. I must speak with Elizabeth. Now.

"My wife, where is she?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"In the library, sir."

I hardly have time for a hurried "thank you" before I am running down the corridor and up the staircase to the solitude of the library above.

Slowing to a walk upon reaching the library's double doors, I take a deep breath before pushing one open gently. Stepping inside, I close the door with a subtle _snap_ and survey the scene before me.

Never has the library looked so used. Mountains of books are stacked haphazard upon the tables, and half-read novels litter the surrounding chairs. Straight ahead are rows of towering shelves, and there, straight down the centre aisle, curled in an alcove whose large windows overlook the bay, is Elizabeth. She has not heard me come in.

Silently I watch her, noticing such subtle nuances as when she occasionally mouths words on the page or continuously brushes a wisp of brown hair out of her eyes. She looks perfect in the simple dress she is wearing, and the picture is only marred by the fact that there are tears still staining her pale cheeks.

I take a step forward right into a stack of books, which tumble endlessly onto the floor in every direction. Startled, Elizabeth jumps up pulling her book to her chest.

"Oh," she exclaims breathlessly whilst taking in the sight of me crouched on the ground recovering the fallen books.

Quickly I stand and take another step toward her. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry for intru –"

"You weren't," she cuts me off, and when she thinks I'm not looking she wipes at the corners of her eyes.

Now it is my turn to be speechless. The silence between us grows as Elizabeth chews at her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry I've been so –"

"I haven't even been thinking –"

We both stop mid-sentence. Elizabeth smooths her skirt and sits down again, motioning for me to sit next to her. When I do she takes my hands in hers, and is silent. Suddenly, I know then that though we feel as if we do not deserve one another we are perfect for each other in that very way.

**Authoress' Note: **Aww, sappy ending… Sorry for that. I promise it won't happen again. ;) Please remember to click on the blue-ish purple-ish button at the bottom of the screen to review! :D The next vignette will be up when I get back from my cruise around the British Isles. W00t! Maybe I'll have number 5 up before college starts again as well.


	4. The First Anniversary

**Authoress' Note: **-waves- I hope you haven't all forgotten about me. I know it's been a while. I had a brilliant time on my cruise and intended to do some editing whilst on board. Obviously, that didn't go as planned or else I would've had this one out a week ago. Anyhoo, here's the Willabeth angst some of you have been waiting for, so enjoy while you can. :) Hopefully I won't have to be doing anymore of that. Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed the last vignette. - hands out more cookies to christyfiction, RexLuscus, xLady Jackal – All characters © Disney

**The First Anniversary**

Sunlight filters through the open window flitting across my face, creating shadows under my closed eyelids. Today is our first wedding anniversary. I turn over to remind Elizabeth of that fact only to find her side of the bed empty and cold. Slightly discouraged, I amble across the room to my wardrobe and dress comfortably for the day. My hair, cropped short to fit under a wig, looks windswept when I glance at it in the looking glass. No doubt Elizabeth would call the look "pleasing to the eye" as she had on several occasions before. Shutting the door softly I head to the dining room for a cup of tea.

My wife is still not to be found when I arrive and a knot of worry twists itself in my stomach. As Thomas piles split timber into the grate I ask him, "Has Elizabeth gone out?"

He glances at me with his usual knowing expression and replies, "Yes sir, she went down to the seaside early this morning. She said she wanted to be left alone, so I didn't call for you."

"Thank you, Thomas. I think I'll go down and talk to her."

My old friend gives me an understanding smile and says something about gardening. I nod though my thoughts are already with Elizabeth's at the seaside.

I find my wife standing ankle deep in the surf with her dress and loosed hair billowing out in the wind. She stares with glassy eyes at the ocean stretched out before her. Quietly, I come to stand beside her, and am suddenly overtaken by the urge to put my arms around her, but I find I cannot.

A quick glance at me, and Elizabeth speaks, "Where would I be without you, James?"

It is a rhetorical question and I remain silent allowing her to voice what she has been longing to say for so long.

"What I mean is, did I make the right decision?"

The breaking of waves against the rocks is loud in my ears, but Elizabeth's reply rings clearly through each rush and crash of water on the sand.

"I may not be happy all the time, but I do not regret anything."

These words are the encouragement I have needed all along, and they give me the courage to reach out and brush Elizabeth's fingers with mine. Just as I pull away her hand darts to the side and entwines with mine. I squeeze her hand lightly and am surprised to find her squeezing back. We stand hand-in-hand for some time, and all I can do is thank God for small miracles.

When Elizabeth breaks away the first thing I notice is the cold sea air against the palm of my hand where hers rested only a moment earlier. I turn to see where she has gone, and find her gathering shells into her skirt. She does not speak as she moves, and so I work besides her, filling my pockets with sand dollars and the remains of broken clams.

--

"You're sure you still want to go?"

"Yes."

"Women don't usually frequent pubs you know."

"Since when have I been like other women?"

I laugh and Elizabeth, though she does not laugh with me, gives me a sidelong glance. The laughter is in her eyes.

"I didn't even know that you drink at all," I say slyly.

"There are many things you don't know about me, James," Elizabeth responds cryptically, turning away toward the window of the carriage.

Immediately, I am sobered and I stay so the remaining few blocks to my favourite pub.

It is fairly quiet (or as quiet as any pub may be at night) when we arrive and the barman, John, greets us heartily as we enter arm-in-arm.

"Commodore!" he cries waving his dishcloth at us in greeting. "I believe congratulations are in order, eh? One year it's been, hasn't it?"

"Yes," I say with a congenial smile, taking my hat off as we near the bar. John spots Elizabeth and smiles kindly.

"Ah now, and here's the missus, beautiful as always," he says, to which Elizabeth blushes prettily, but continues to smile as we sit down.

"A lucky man you are, James. A lucky man indeed. . . " John murmurs whilst taking out two glasses. Straightening up and setting the pair on the counter he asks "The usual? And maybe something a bit milder for the lady?"

Elizabeth nods and I voice our assent.

"That will do nicely."

The mood between us remains pensive as we sip our drinks in silence. I am grateful to Elizabeth for not expecting conversation. The silence between us is mutual, and so I let my mind wander while listening to the murmurs of the other people in the tavern. I watch Elizabeth who sits with her eyes closed until the stillness is broken by the sudden slamming of a door followed by the shuffling of heavy footsteps.

"Elizabeth!" a voice cries from behind; a voice that is all too familiar.

Elizabeth and I turn as one and are both startled to see William Turner standing in the doorway. The entire bar goes silent; what they are expecting to happen I do not know.

Elizabeth stands cautiously, the initial shock of seeing him still etched on her face.

"Will?" she whispers, as though she does not recognize the very same dark-haired, brown-eyed man she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

"Elizabeth," comes his heart felt reply as William steps toward her, taking her hands in his. I am speechless at his audacity, and Elizabeth seems to feel the same way. Her eyes widen as he draws himself closer and closer, his lips hovering dangerously near her own. . .

Standing quickly, I reach automatically for my sword only to find air in its place.

"She's married you know," I say, the words coming out rougher than I had intended them to be.

Elizabeth steps back, as though she's been caught in the act of something she ought naught to have been doing, and looks away ashamedly. William Turner, however, squints at me as though trying to remember something from ages past. His eyes harden in recognition.

"Norrington."

He glances at Elizabeth who stands, stricken, to the side of us, and fury wells within me. _How dare he show his face today of all days! _A hot wave of anger sweeps through me and I suddenly realise I'm shaking.

Still staring Elizabeth down he asks, "You. . . you married him?"

Elizabeth breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor, nodding. Hesitantly, he moves toward her hand out-stretched, the pain of this newfound knowledge in his very movement. "Elizabeth, I. . ."

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" I yell, as something within me seems to snap at the sight of them together. Then, before I know what I've done, I lunge and my fist connects with Mr. Turner's jaw with a deafening crack. He stumbles backward slightly and then in a split second recovers enough to hit back. Suddenly I am lost in a vortex of hands and blood and spit. Vaguely, I hear Elizabeth calling my name and then all goes black as I stumble back into the bar. Breaking glass, heavy footsteps followed by muffled yells and a slammed door, then silence.

I reach up tentatively and feel my left eye, which seems to have been reduced to a mere slit as it continues to swell. I dare not open my right eye to see the damage I have caused. Already I feel crimson shame spreading itself across my face.

"James," Elizabeth says quietly from my side as she takes my hand in hers, "Come away."

She helps me to stand and proceeds to lead me like a little child to the carriage already waiting outside. When we arrive home I stumble out of the carriage and into her waiting arms. Patiently, Elizabeth leads me up the front steps to the house where Betsy greets us at the door.

"My word!" she cries whilst herding us inside, "Sir, your face! What's 'appened?"

Before I can answer I am pushed into a chair as Elizabeth responds, "We had some trouble at the tavern, but everything's been sorted out." Her voice seems restricted and colder than I've ever heard it before. "Would you fetch some fresh linens and water to clean up Master Norrington's face?"

"Yes, of course, ma'am."

Hurried footsteps and the sound of a door clicking shut followed by more suffocating silence. I take a chance at opening my eyes and find that the left has completely swollen shut, but that the right is still usable.

At first it seems I am alone, until I spot Elizabeth standing slightly in the shadows, her back to me, staring up at my father's portrait on the wall. She speaks to the wall rather than facing me.

"How could you, James? How could you do something so. . . so _rash_?"

Her words are like ice, which freezes in the pit of my stomach.

"What were you thinking to prove? There's nothing left _to _prove. You got me, didn't you? That's all you ever really wanted . . ." She whips around to face me, her eyes hard. "And then you had to jeopardise _everything_ to prove something that's already _been_ proven."

She crosses her arms across her chest as she awaits my answer. I stand and walk toward her unsure of what to say at first, because everything she's said is true.

"I'm sorry," I begin and then I sigh. _How am I supposed to explain this? _"It's just. . . seeing the two of you together again brought back so many painful memories. I don't want to lose you," I finish lamely.

Elizabeth's eyebrow arches at my feeble attempt at an explanation.

Clearing my throat, I change the subject slightly by asking the question on my mind, "Do you still love him?"

Elizabeth looks away suddenly flustered.

"How can I _not_, James, when our lives were once so tightly wound together?" she finally asks matter-of-factly.

I knit my brow at this answer, unsure of how to feel. Seeing my distress, Elizabeth's demeanour softens considerably. She reaches up and puts a hand to my cheek. I place mine over hers as she begins to speak.

"But, here I am, married to you, James. Just because I love him still does not mean I must be unfaithful to you. I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it."

With an air of finality on the subject she kisses my cheek and saunters out of the room without another word.

**Authoress' Note: **Don't forget to press that review button! Lots of cookies and love to those who do, and maybe free Snape plushies as well, because I love him so much.


	5. The First Night Alone

**Authoress' Notes: **Hi again. :) Sorry for not updating sooner. I've been prepping for school, which actually started today. 'Twas very hectic I assure you, and I'm very happy to be home doing something I enjoy. So, after the appearance of Will in the last vignette I'm taking this story arc in a different direction than I had intended. I'm not sure if we'll be seeing more of Will physically, but be assured his presence will be felt. Thank you to everyone who reviewed for the last few vignettes. – hands Snape plushies to christyfiction, Willofthewisp, Darky, Nurr, PD, SilverRose, & Ammy –

All characters © Disney

**The First Night Alone**

Nearly a month had passed since the bar incident before Elizabeth came to the assumption that Will had left Port Royal and would therefore not be around for me to get into scrapes with. This signaled the end of my captivity in our home and at the fort, both of which I had been confined to under the close watch of Elizabeth. Even then, I was only allowed out considering the special occasion: my good friend, Andrew Gillette, kept away at sea for six months was newly returned home, and we had much to discuss.

Elizabeth, who had been in an almost jovial mood these past weeks, had the good grace to see me off though it was in a most inappropriate fashion.

Pulling on my boots, I call up the stairs to Elizabeth as I pass them on my way toward the door, "I'm leaving now!"

I wait a second with my hand on the door handle, and when she does not answer I step outside and into the carriage already waiting for me.

"James!" came Elizabeth's voice from above.

Confused, I look upward, and shielding my eyes from the morning sun, gaze upon Elizabeth who is standing upon our balcony in naught but her dressing gown. The footman holding the carriage door open behind me clears his throat as I give an exasperated sigh.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "I'm seeing you off, and then I plan on getting dressed. If you don't mind."

"Really, I don't," I call back.

She opens her mouth to send me a quick-witted retort and then chooses to close her mouth. I can't tell if she is amused or angry with me, so I turn to leave.

"Wait a minute, I'm not done with you, sir," she calls to my retreating back.

I turn to face her again and put on what I hope looks like a mock scowl. "Yes, what is it?"

"I just want to let you know that I've got errands to run in town today, and am planning on seeing Mrs. Parton later. I should be back before dark."

"Right then," I say, tipping my hat, "I shall see you this evening, Mrs. Norrington."

"Yes, I suppose you shall, Commodore" she replies with a wave before disappearing back inside.

--

I enter the pub as inconspicuously as I can and find Andrew, already seated at a table in the corner, sipping at a pint of ale.

"Not going to throw anyone a punch, are you?" he asks teasingly.

"Oh, shut up," I grumble, "It wasn't funny at the time you know."

Andrew stops mid-laugh and gives me a serious look. "No, it wasn't. You're right."

Not meaning to ruin the mood, I order up a pint for myself and ask after Andrew's time at sea.

"To be honest, James," he begins, "It was bloody awful. Six months at sea is the longest I've been away, and it didn't help matters that I'd left Rachel home alone expectin' our first child."

"And how is Rachel?"

"She's just grand. Little George was born just two weeks before I came home, which was a lovely surprise. She's keepin' busy with feeding him and playing with him. Motherhood suits her well."

"And what about you and fatherhood?" I ask with a sly smile.

It takes a moment for Andrew to respond. "I suppose it suits me just as well, though I hardly get to see the poor boy. Rachel keeps him all to herself most days. Her reasoning is that I'll have plenty of time to be with him when he's older and doesn't wish to be mollycoddled anymore."

I laugh at Rachel's assertion as Andrew shrugs and downs more ale.

"What of you and Elizabeth?"

Now it's my turn to shrug. "The same as usual I would say. Not much better, but certainly not worse."

Andrew senses my discomfort and doesn't press the subject further as silence falls between us.

Suddenly, he leans forward, his eyes darting to either side before speaking in a hoarse whisper, "Be careful next time you're on duty, James," he says.

I incline my ear to hear better as he continues under his breath, "The East India Trading Company's been hiring pirates to do their dirty work. We came in contact with about a dozen or so ships, all of 'em EITC, but some of which were flying pirate colours. I can't count the number of times we were almost ambushed."

Stunned, I sit in silence gaping at Andrew who stares back from over the rim of his mug. _Could Will be employed by the EITC? Is that why he'd come back?_ A knot catches in my throat at the thought, and I swallow hard.

"What's the purpose behind attacking the Royal Navy with hired pirates?" I finally manage to ask.

Andrew shakes his head. "I've no idea. It makes no sense for the East India Company to be attacking us, as they are an English company. Mark me, something suspicious is going on, and I don't like the look of it."

All I can do is nod in agreement, and swallow the worry bubbling up in my throat.

--

After a long visit at Andrew's to see Rachel and George followed by a few hours at the fort I head home expecting supper to be on the table with Elizabeth already seated, waiting impatiently.

When I enter the dining room I am surprised to see the table set only for one. As Betsy pours tea I inquire after Elizabeth.

"She said she'd be back before dark, and that's a few hours yet. No point in worrying, sir," she replies a little to cheerfully for my taste.

I nod and proceed to eat alone for the first time in a year. I had never realised how truly lonely it felt to be the only one in such a great room. Without Elizabeth's bustling dresses and soft chatter it all feels much too immense.

I spend that evening pacing our bedroom and watching the sun sink in the sky as I strain vainly to hear a knock on the door or a carriage on the gravel drive.

Dark falls, and awash with anxiety, I organize the household into a search party. I stand watch from our balcony and watch tiny pinpricks of lanterns disappear into the shadows of the starless night.

"It's just too dark, sir," proclaims Thomas sadly from down below, "We'd never be able to see her if she couldn't call back to us."

My stomach lurches horribly at the thought of Elizabeth lying on the ground somewhere hurt or in pain and unable to cry for help. Regaining my composure I respond, "We'll continue our search tomorrow then."

Thomas says nothing in response and I can tell he is not optimistic.

--

The night is a difficult one, and I hardly sleep more than a couple of hours. It feels as though I am missing half of myself in that vast empty bed.

Sleep deprived and heavy-hearted I awake the next morning with the intention of visiting Mrs. Parton as soon as I can. After a more thorough search of the grounds I ride alone to the Parton's home at the edge of town.

Mrs. Parton herself answers the door with a look of mild surprise on her face.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Commodore? Is something the matter?"

Hat in hand, I make no move to enter the house but reply courteously instead, "I cannot bring myself to intrude upon your hospitality, Mrs. Parton. However, I do have a question to ask of you – Did you see Elizabeth yesterday?"

"Yes, I did," she replies. "She was here for about an hour or so before leaving. She said she'd be meeting someone at the docks."

My heart skips a beat. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be.

"Did she say who it was that she was meeting?"

I hold my breath, waiting for a reply; a confirmation of what I know must be true.

"No, sir. She didn't say, and I didn't think it my place to ask. Anyway, I thought it was you she was speaking of."

I let out my breath in a rush and jam my hat on my head again.

"Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Parton. Have a good day."

Tipping my hat, I turn to leave as the puzzled old woman slips back inside her house.

With renewed determination I ride swiftly toward the harbour. There is only one man on my mind now; one man responsible for my missing wife.

_William Turner. _

**Authoress' Notes: **I hope you enjoyed that. It was my first attempt at a cliff-hanger, so we'll see how that comes across for all of you. Don't forget to review!


	6. The First True Kiss

**Authoress' Note: **Look familiar? It's because it is. :P I was very dissatisfied with my attempt at vignette number 6 "The First True Kiss" and after being convinced by a reviewer on DeviantArt I decided to rewrite this vignette without Will in it. Do not fear! I am keeping the original up so that everyone is satisfied, but just know that I definitely consider this version to be the better one. ;) Thanks for reviewing as always! All characters © Disney

**The First True Kiss (Revised)**

I ride toward the harbour in a daze, hardly taking in any of my surroundings as emotion after emotion rise up in me and crash into each other before falling back into the pit of despair lying heavily on my heart. First comes fear, followed by anger, then loathing as I look down onto the fort and the docks spread before me.

Storming into the fort, I meet my lieutenants who seem surprised to see me in such a state. Taking off my hat and wig I run a hand through my hair, agitated. They stare as I pace up and down the room attempting to regain composure.

"Have any East India ships made berth here in the last few days?" I ask.

Andrew, who I had not previously noticed, raises a hand to catch my attention.

"There was one docked here a few days ago, but it's been gone for hours now," he says, to which I suppress a cry of exasperation, "but there is a ship flying no colours under the name of Smith. It docked a few days ago and is still here. Could it be of interest?"

I remain silent, unsure of whether I should share my plight with the entire company standing before me.

"Gillette, may I have a word with you?" I ask, signaling for us to be left alone.

As soon as the last red coat disappears, Andrew drops all formalities and rushes to my side.

"Is something wrong, James?"

I nod and begin pacing the room again as I recount the situation for what feels like the hundredth time. When I finish, I look up to see Andrew's brow furrowed in concentration as though he is trying desperately to remember some important detail.

"Smith!" he cries abruptly.

"What?"

"Smith," he says again, his eyes bright with the revelation, "That's the name Jack Sparrow gave last time he was in port. That's his ship without the flags!"

With each word Andrew says everything falls into place. I had been completely wrong earlier thinking that Will Turner had come in on an EITC ship. It would have been uncharacteristic of him to do so. Jack's mantra had always been "once a pirate, always a pirate" and he would never let himself be shackled into their service. There is one detail that doesn't seem to add up though.

"But _The Pearl _is Jack's ship. Why would he be in port on another ship?" I ask, frustrated by the fact I do not know Jack Sparrow's ulterior motives.

"Everyone would recognise _The Pearl, _wouldn't they?" Andrew asks fervently, "He wants to be inconspicuous."

I nod in agreement with Andrew's logic. Sometimes it's frightening how well he can think like a pirate.

"Has the ship been searched?"

"I'm a step ahead of you, James. I had a group of sailors check it out this morning before you arrived, and they didn't find anything. There were no cargo or people aboard _The Bounty_."

Absentmindedly I rub at my temple as a pounding headache threatens. Will must still be here then and possibly Jack as well. I call all the lieutenants and officers back in for more questioning.

"Did anyone see Elizabeth at the docks yesterday?"

Silence greets my question and no one meets my gaze as I look at each individual in the room in turn. Finally, a sailor by the name of Miller raises his hand hesitantly.

"She came in one of your carriages yesterday evening, sir. I saw her whilst on the night watch. She boarded _The Bounty _and didn't leave til this very morning naught but an hour ago before we was supposed to look over the ship."

My mind works quickly to take this new information in. There is only one place she can be now: home. Wasting no time, I sprint out of the fort and having hardly untethered my horse, I leap on and gallop with a fierce determination west toward the cliffs and home.

--

When I arrive, the carriage and horses have already been stabled. I skid to a halt and tie my horse up at the gate before continuing up the drive. Surprisingly the front door is open and there is no sign of Betsy in sight.

The parlour door is closed and as I move toward it with my hand outstretched I hear the clinking of china and Betsy's cheerful voices saying, "The Master's been out all this morning looking for you, Madame. He'll be ever so relieved to see you've made it back safely."

Elizabeth replies in a softer, muffled voice and I press my ear to the door to hear the conversation better.

"There's so much he doesn't know, Betsy," Elizabeth says in confidence. I can almost see the other young woman leaning in the hopes of catching some of the gossip.

There is an uneasy pause in which I debate within myself as to my course of action. Rashly, I throw open the door with my sword drawn and a look of hatred etched on my face. Shocked, Elizabeth shatters her teacup and spills its contents across her bodice as Betsy backs away muttering something that sounds like, "My word!"

Recovering herself Elizabeth throws down the shards of the cup still in her hands and draws herself up defiantly. "Is this how you would greet your wife," she asks sternly, "with sword drawn as though I were a common criminal?"

I lower my arm but do not sheath my sword just yet. The words that come to my lips are harsh and I am surprised to hear them.

"Why should I not? For all I know you've been playing the part of an adulteress this past night for which the punishment, if you don't know, is a swift hanging."

I follow Betsy with my eyes as she backs out of the room and shuts the door behind her. Elizabeth's lip quivers precariously, and she crosses her arms across her chest as though doing so will somehow make her disappear. Her eyes lose the fiery spark they had held as she challenged me only moments ago, and I cannot help but soften. I did not mean to hurt her. She knows I would die in her place if the situation ever arose.

"William's never coming back you know," she says matter-of-factly, "He told me he'd be leaving with Jack Sparrow this very day."

I do not respond, but instead I sheath my sword and place it aside as a neutral gesture. Calmly, Elizabeth lowers herself into a chair and begins to speak again.

"Two years ago, Will left me with a promise," she says softly, staring at some mark in the empty space before her," He promised that as soon as he found his father, he would come back to me and we could be married."

"I held onto that promise, James, hoping beyond hope that each passing day might bring him home to me. Once I remember him saying we were destined to be together, and somehow I knew it to be true, or at least, I believed it to be true."

"When you proposed to me I initially sited that I was unsure of my feelings and needed time to think things through. In truth, I was waiting for William. Each day I watched the ships come in and prayed he would be on one of them to sweep me away from the trappings of a loveless marriage."

"Months passed, and when I could not put fate off any longer I said yes to you, and you made me your wife. Our first year together I will not recount for you know it just as well as I do. Then, a month ago, everything changed for me. Will reappeared and so did all of the memories and feelings for him that I had long kept buried. I was conflicted between remaining faithful to you and pursuing a two year-old dream."

"After the incident between you and Will I thought my chances with him had been ruined forever. So, when I chanced upon meeting him in town only a few days ago I couldn't say no to seeing him again. We met late last night on _The Bounty_ and talked for hours. When I had realised how much time had passed I knew you would be worried and insisted on going home. Will, however, asked that I stay and he promised to take me back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow turned into today and just as he had promised, Will escorted me back home. Here you've found me just as whole as I'd left you."

She glances up at me and lowers her eyes to her hands, which have knotted themselves together in her lap. I am speechless as I soak in everything she has told me. Awkwardly, I cross my arms and clear my throat before asking the first question on my mind.

"You talked all night? That's it? I mean," I look down at my feet, "last night you didn't. . ."

I trail off, unable to complete what I mean to ask. I do not look at Elizabeth's face as she answers.

"No," she says, her voice rough and defiant. "No, I did not sleep with him."

I nod and find myself slightly relieved. There are many holes in her story, but I feel that I must trust her now or else risk estrangement from her for the rest of our lives together.

Elizabeth opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and then finally decides to say what is on her mind. "I kissed him, James."

"What? Why?"

Her words reverberate in my head loudly, as my heart seems to plummet upward right into my throat.

"I had to know!" Elizabeth cries as she stands up to face me. "I had to know what it would have been like if. . . I had to know if I truly. . . love him."

Fury wells within me and suddenly I feel sick, her unfaithfulness burning me like the hot bile rising in my throat. Running a hand through my hair, I close my eyes to the hot tears forming at their corners. When I open them again I find myself facing Elizabeth's figure, which is turned away from me. She revolves slowly on the spot, and the light catches on the glistening tears streaming down her cheeks.

"James, I lied to you that day," she says, her voice a whisper shaky with emotion. "You asked me if I still love him, and I said yes, but it isn't true."

Elizabeth pauses to take in a shuddering breath and closes her eyes against a fresh wave of tears. My own tears, which I had suppressed for so long, now flow unchecked down my cheeks as she takes a step toward me.

"I kissed him, because I had to know what I was missing, and I found out something I didn't expect."

An unexpected smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and she gulps down another breath to calm herself.

"I don't love William Turner, James. I don't love him anymore."

Three strides and my lips are on hers. I can taste the salt of her tears, but already they are ceasing as she pulls me to her and kisses me back. As I cup her face in my hands and feel her smile against my lips I am, perhaps, the happiest man alive.

**Authoress' Note: **See, just a teensy bit different. I hope you enjoyed this updated version. Be on the lookout for the next installment as always.


	7. The First Cut

**Authoress' Note: **Sorry for taking so long to update, everyone! College has really been eating up all my free time, and this was a tough vignette to write. At any rate, I hope you like it, as it wasn't in the original planning of this series who follows plans anyway?. Thanks very much to those who have reviewed! – hands out cookies – All characters © Disney

**The First Untitled**

It has been a very long night spent pacing the same worn path of flooring in my study. A large map of the Caribbean and Florida lie across the expanse of my desk dotted with points of interest and activity. I stop and stare down at it, tracing the paths of British and Spanish naval ships.

For the past 8 months I have been asked to monitor the activity of the Spanish around the Florida coast. King George has been eyeing the area for quite some time I have been told, and he is determined to seize it from our friends of the Iberian Peninsula to add to the wealth of the British Empire. In Mad George's mind it is an opportunity for expansion. In the English peoples' mind it is an opportunity for disaster.

Yawning, I rub my strained and aching eyes and decide that if I do not get any rest I shall sleep straight through my meeting the following day with the newly appointed Admiral, who will be heading all naval operations against the Spaniards.

Elizabeth is sound asleep when I open our bedroom door quietly to look in on her. A sliver of moonlight falls across her still form, and it gives me just enough light to undress and throw a nightshirt over my head. Bending down to unbuckle my shoes, I am suddenly startled by the rustling of sheets and a muffled cry from behind me.

Slipping off my shoes, I turn toward Elizabeth, who is sitting bolt upright, her face pale and her chest heaving as the glint of tears on her cheeks catches in the faint light. Her heavy breathing slows as she peers around at the familiar room.

"Elizabeth?"

When she does not respond, my hand lingers over hers for a moment before I take it in my own. She starts at my touch and suddenly bursts into tears, launching herself into my arms. With her face buried in my neck her words become indiscernible, and so I sit awkwardly, cradling her, until her sobs subside into silence. After some time, Elizabeth moves out of my embrace slightly and wipes a hand across her reddened eyes. She sucks in a deep breath before speaking in a shaky voice.

"I had the most awful dream about you, James," she whispers, her brow furrowing as she strains to remember. "It was so realistic I could almost _feel _everything going on around us." The fear in her eyes is real as she recounts the unpleasant images in her head.

"Come now," I say, falsely cheerful, "It couldn't have been all that terrible."

Elizabeth fixes me with a pointed stare. "You were _dying_ in my dream, James. How can that not be terrible?"

The pseudo smile on my face falters and is replaced immediately with a sober look. "It was only a dream though, Liz," I say in an attempt at consolation.

"Yes," she replies vaguely, staring down at her hand, which is still clasped in mine. "Yes, it was only a dream."

"I'll be fine."

She nods, but I can tell there is something still on her mind. She is doubtful, and I have no way of reassuring her.

"Do you promise?"

"Do I promise I'll be fine?"

"Yes."

"You know I can't, Elizabeth," I say kindly. "I can promise you I'll come home though."

The implication of my words lies heavy between us, unspoken. Elizabeth leans back into her pillows and closes her eyes. Knowing the conversation to be over I kiss her forehead, lie down beside her, and turn over on my side. Perhaps the dream will become a thing long forgotten by the morning when the brightness of the sun can dispel its menace. Elizabeth shifts uncomfortably beside me. Her voice pierces the darkness.

"I'm much too young to be a widow, James."

I close my eyes against the gloom.

"I know."

--

Elizabeth's head lolls against my shoulder as the carriage jolts and bumps down the road to the docks. She stirs and opens her eyes as we roll to a stop.

"Tired?"

"No," she replies, glancing out the window at the crowd of sailors and their sweethearts and wives gathering at the gangway of the ship. "I was just thinking."

I nod and do not press her further. Suddenly there is a commotion as an ornate carriage moves passed ours and stops further down the dock. The steps are lowered and out strides a rugged looking gentleman decked out in the garb of an admiral.

"That's him," I say, nodding toward his retreating back. "I must leave you now to report to him."

Elizabeth nods, a defiant look on her face, even as her chin trembles. One tear manages to spill down her face, which I brush away with my thumb. Smiling, I rest my hand on the contour of her cheek.

"There now, why all these tears?" I ask quietly.

Elizabeth sniffs loudly and tries to wipe her eyes, but the tears are already brimming over and they cannot be stopped.

"I'm sorry, James," she cries, taking out a handkerchief to blow her nose. "I'm being terribly silly, aren't I?"

She attempts to smile through her tears, and that seems to dispel the mood she has put herself in.

"No, not silly at all," I say sincerely. "I'll miss you greatly."

"As will I," she responds.

I lean forward, my mouth hovering above hers, before I kiss her waiting lips and push open the carriage door, stepping into the light of the garish sun.

"I love you," I say to her so that only she may hear, my hand resting on the door handle.

Something curious happens then. Elizabeth opens her mouth to respond and suddenly closes it as though she has changed her mind about something. Before I can say anything more I am called away to report for duty, and I shut the door with a snap. Something akin to anxiety settles in my stomach as I mull over her hesitation. Where had I seen her act in such a manner before? I wrack every corner of my mind yet I cannot seem to remember, and I find myself more confused and apprehensive than before.

--

It has been a long 3 months and we still have not seen anything more than local fisherman out for a hard day's work on their boats. It has been hard adjusting to life without Elizabeth constantly by my side. I miss her quiet strength and dry humour, as well as those subtle touches around our home which make her presence known: her shawl draped over a chair, books left in bed after a late night read, and teacups in my study.

At the same time I find myself realising how much I have also missed the pitching of the ship in the sea, the crews' rough voices coupled with their gentle natures, and spending late night shifts with some of my closest companions from my bachelor days.

This very morning I stand watch with the Admiral staring out at the sea, which stretches around us in all directions. Nothing moves except the glowing sun rising up over the swells of the waves. Just as the light hits the deck the Admiral cups his hands around his mouth and shouts upward toward the crow's nest. "Report!"

There is a scurrying from above, and then my good friend Jonathan drops down from the rigging.

"There's a ship, Sir, off the starboard side. It looks to be about 3 miles off of us."

The Admiral nods his head to show he has heard, takes out a long glass, and trains it on some point in the distance.

"She isn't flying any colours?"

"No, Sir. Not that we can see anyway," Jonathan replies. His place is in the rigging, and I can tell he's eager to join his mate up above the ship.

"Keep your eyes fixed on them, lads," the Admiral says as he snaps the long glass closed. "I won't have us ambushed by Spaniards."

"Aye, Sir," Jonathan calls as he disappears up to the crow's nest once again.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky the non-existent ship becomes a speck to our right and eventually becomes a full vessel. A line of worry creases the Admiral's forehead as they raise the Spanish flag high above their ship. We have been caught.

The tension permeating from every member of the crew increases ten-fold as we move to our stations to prepare for battle. I survey the activity from behind the Admiral as the men dash to and fro, strapping on pistols and swords, whilst hurrying to swab down the cannons. Finally, all goes quiet as every man stands at his post waiting expectantly for orders to be given. My own heart hammers violently in my chest in time with the seconds ticking by.

The first shot, from the Spaniard's largest cannon, volleys across the deck and lands on the opposite side of our ship. The second blows a hole into the lower deck sending splintered wood flying over our heads and out across the water. I watch our admiral, hoping and praying he will allow us to fire our own cannons soon. "Load!" comes the call a few seconds later.

Frenzy ensues as men dart in all directions to load the gunpowder and rounds as quickly as they can, so that they may be ready when the command to fire comes. When the last ball is dropped into the cannon and is ready, the Admiral turns and nods to me. "It's your call, Commodore," he says roughly.

Swallowing my heart, which feels as though it's beating somewhere up in my throat, I raise my voice to address the eager men. "Fire!"

Our assault tears across the waves, rips across the enemy's deck, and lands on the other side in the water. It was an unlucky shot, but already our cannons are being swabbed and loaded again. This time the Admiral gives the command. We do not miss. Several of our shots strike down the Spaniards mast, which falls with a splash into the ocean's depths. Hooks are now being prepared so that we may board.

We spill onto the deck of the enemy vessel and are greeted by Spanish curses and the clang of metal on metal. I pull my sword from its sheath, block a swipe at my neck, and am immediately swept into the heat of battle. Sheer minutes, which feel like hours to me, pass by as I move around the deck parrying each thrust of the enemy sword. Pulling my sword out of a fallen man's gut, I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and look around to assess the situation. Things are going well for us, and yet the Spaniards refuse to surrender. Jonathan, who is an intense fight with a man twice his size, calls to me from the bow.

A flash of heat slices through my back and between my ribs. My breath catches in my throat as the swaggering smile slides from Jonathan's face. Staggering backward, I put a hand to my side, and when I look down crimson blood seeps through my coat, dark against the navy blue. The smell of copper and death washes over me, and I feel hot bile rise in my throat. Suddenly, Jonathan's face is above me, swimming in and out of focus. He is yelling something, but I can't seem to hear him anymore. When I open my mouth to tell him this I find that my jaw feels much too heavy. I struggle to keep my eyes open, yet the harder I try the more I slip into blessed blackness.

**Authoress' Note: **As you can see, I'm having a hard time coming up with a title for this one. If anyone has any ideas please feel free to share them. Don't forget to review!


	8. The First Steps

**Authoress' Note: **I don't even wanna know how long it's been since I last updated. All I know is that it's been too long, and I'm terribly sorry. School has definitely gotten the better of me. Anyway, I'm experimenting with a new style of writing that sort of throws correct grammar to the wayside in places, so don't think that because I haven't written anything in a while everything is going to pot. :P Don't forget to review when you're done reading!

**The First Steps**

Who knew that darkness could be a colour. Yet it is the only colour I see before my eyes right now. It is dark chocolate or perhaps an ink stain spreading across my vision. Time in this conscious gloom is nonexistent. How long have I been in this state? Weeks? Months? Years? A river of thoughts and memories flows through the vast emptiness of my mind, and many times a face rises like the sun in the night of my confusion. I know that face. Her name lies heavy upon my tongue, which feels disconnected from the rest of me. Just as that name is born upon my lips it dies, and I plummet back into the oblivion of forgetfulness.

Who knew that light could be a colour. Yet it is the only colour I see before my eyes right now. It is blinding snow or perhaps the pinprick of a flickering candle causing me to blink my eyes furiously. Blink. It is such a small movement of eye muscles and colliding eyelashes, yet my heart rejoices for this small feat. From inside my head I beg my heart to stop its pounding so that I may make better note of my reawakening senses. A tingling sensation of life ripples through my body, and I revel in it.

And then my snow bleeds red and my glimmering candle is snuffed out. A dull ache in my side spreads over my body until it is my head that pounds instead of my heart and my arms and legs are weighted with fatigue.

---

Elizabeth.

Her name matches the beauty of her face as I peek up at her through slitted eyes. The pain in my side, like hot daggers, has not gone away, but somehow it is lessened by her very presence above me. Every word she speaks is like a cool hand on a feverish brow, and I am soothed.

Elizabeth's nimble hands work diligently at something in her lap. A needle flashes silver and white in the waning light. She looks down at the piece of work lovingly, as though it were her child, and then carefully she holds it up for me to see, though to her I am still a sleeping corpse.

"I've finished it," she whispers, tracing the delicate roses stationed around the perimetre of the sampler. "I'm not much good at it," she confesses, "and to be completely honest," she lowers her voice as though she were speaking to a confidante, "I haven't really got the patience for doing these sorts of things."

She sighs and picks at an imaginary thread. "I've had to find something to keep me occupied since you've been . . . well, away."

I long to take her hands in mine and cry aloud that I am here now, but my tongue is leaden and try as I might to form words all they seem to do is collide into a jumbled mess in my mouth.

"I've been staying with Father for the last few weeks. Betsy and Thomas seemed to think it was better that way after the trouble we had with a few drunken locals the other night," she makes an exasperated noise, "I thought it was downright ridiculous, but Father made the point of saying that it's what you would have wanted . . . or what you do want."

"Living with Father hasn't been terrible though. I've been staying in my old room, which has brought back so many memories. Father isn't so young anymore you know, and it seems he's let himself go a bit since I left. It was refreshing to be his little girl again."

She stops speaking abruptly as her forehead creases in worry. My mind slips at the edges as the silence grows. Elizabeth straightens in her chair suddenly and her eyes glow with excitement.

"I went to see Rachel and Andrew the other day," she says, "Their son, George, is delightful. I wish you had taken me to meet them sooner. Their living is modest, but they have the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever met. Rachel hardly put Georgie down once whilst I was there though you could tell he would have rather been upon the floor," she pauses as her face falls to a look of sadness. "I do love children," she says more to herself than anyone else. A pregnant pause suggests unspoken regrets and unfulfilled wishes.

Her voice thickens and her next words I do not catch for they are caught mid-choke. She clenches her eyes shut as her breath sputters. A torrent of tears fight their way over the arch of her cheekbone, and she buries her face in her hands to hide her shame and tears. Inside I am screaming, and my ribs are on fire. Elizabeth grieves. Outside thunder rumbles. I fall over the edge into unconsciousness once more.

---

There is a coolness upon my cheek. I stir under its touch, and immediately it is removed. My eyes strain to open, and when they do it is as though I have been born anew. All my surroundings are foreign, and there is no trace of Elizabeth. My neck is stiff and it creaks as I shift my head and eyes to the left.

Blood, like copper on the tongue, greets my nostrils. I gag on the saliva that has built up in my mouth out of apprehension. Eyes adjusted, I take in the stump of a leg whose bandages have been bruised all shades of plum. The stump is connected to the body of a man whose chest rises and falls labourously with each ragged moan. Gulping down sickly hot bile I shift my head to the left. The sight is far less assaulting to the senses, but at the same time it sends my stomach plummeting toward the floor.

There is a white sheet. The silhouette of a dead corpse. Death himself hovering silently nearby, a grim expression set on his face. His accomplice stands just as grimly at the end of the cot. The corpse is carried away, and I close my eyes again.

My dreams are penetrated that night by the smell of blood, the cries of dying men, and a stabbing pain in my side. Fire consumes me as I succumb to fever, and I can no longer guess the hour, the day, or even my own name.

---

"James?"

I inhale deeply and wince at the sudden shooting pain in my side. Without effort I open my eyes and smile sheepishly at the vision standing over me.

"Elizabeth."

I exhale the words, and my wife nods though I had not asked a question. She lets out a shuddering breath and smiles even as a pearl tear drops from her nose onto my cheek. Wiping it away she whispers, "I missed you."

I part my lips to reply.

"Don't speak," she whispers, and in a second our lips collide.

She pulls away to sit back in her chair, and I attempt to sit up. Gently she places a hand on my shoulder to push me back down onto the cot.

"You shouldn't be sitting up just yet. The doctor wouldn't like it," Elizabeth warns as she pours water from the pitcher on the bedside table. "Here, drink this before you speak."

I take the glass with trembling hands and raise my head slightly to gulp the water down. My parched throat constricts as the water rushes down and somehow I manage to spill most of it down my front.

Elizabeth does not laugh at my blunder but instead takes the empty glass from my hand and dabs at the watermark spreading across my linen shirt. I grimace as her hand brushes against the sore spot beneath my rib cage. Abruptly she pulls back with a look of guilt upon her face.

I clear my throat. "What is it?"

She looks at her hands, clasped tightly so that the knuckles are white, as the story tumbles from her lips.

"You were severely injured when they brought you in from the ship. I did not see you right away, but I heard. There was blood. So much blood. The doctor said that if you lived through the first night it would be a miracle. I insisted upon sleeping on the floor on that first night," she says, a defiant look on her face. "I. . . I didn't want you to be alone in the end."

A lump forms in my throat, and I give my wife a smile that I hope she won't mistake for a grimace. The lines on her face soften and she reaches for my hand, running her thumb over the rough knuckles.

"There will be a scar," she says seriously, and I nod again having had expected this. "I have not seen it, but I'm sure I will soon enough. I've been taught many things in the last few months, and making bandages is not the least among them."

She beams prettily, if not triumphantly, and I close my eyes again as we lapse into a comfortable silence. Later as I drift back into the realm of sleep I hear Elizabeth sigh contentedly and say something about finally going home.

**Authoress' Note:** There you go. I hope that was a satisfactory following after the "cliff hanger" I left all of you with. Don't forget to review!!


	9. The First Ball

**The First Ball**

"Hopefully this is the last time we'll have to do this," Elizabeth says, as I slip my shirt from over my head and place it next to me on the bed. I rub my bloodshot eyes and glance up at her slight figure looming next to me.

"It hasn't been pleasant for me either, you know," I let slip through gritted teeth. Leaning forward Elizabeth reaches around me to find the seam of the bandage wrapped about my chest.

"Did I say it was pleasant for any of us?" she asks, pulling hard at the knot till it gives under her now experienced hands. She unwinds the bandage and gives a sigh of relief as it peels away from my skin. There is no blood today, and I hear her whisper a prayer of thanks, her eyes cast momentarily upward. "This is the last day you'll have to wear these bandages," she says as she sets to work unwinding the starched white rolls of cloth that she has painstakingly, over the past few weeks, cut and boiled every day for me.

Our journey through these past weeks has been a dark and winding one. Night after night, upon my return home from the fort I awoke, sweaty and breathing heavily, with a pain in my gut and the screams of dying men echoing in my ears. My wife knew not what pain I was in and did her best to comfort me, and I told her on numerous occasions how much it meant to me; how much I loved her.

A smooth finger, one that has not seen work in all its life, swipes across the grotesque and reddened scar under my ribs. I grimace at its touch, for the flesh is still tender in that area, and Elizabeth sees.

"Sorry, James," she says, "I'm trying to be as careful as I can."

I twist my grimace into a wane smile. "I know. It's just sore, that's all."

"That's to be expected," she says matter-of-factly, and I catch her glancing at it again as she begins to spiral the cloth about me.

Her glance hearkens back to the first day she took the bandages off. They were still bloody then, and the copper smell was pungent, filling the room so that she was forced to open a window. As soon as the bandages had fallen away she stared at the wound stretching across me until I thought perhaps she could stare no longer, and then she said, in the same matter-of-fact tone "It could be worse." Only then did I realise that my wife was tougher than I had ever realised.

The new bandages finally secured, Elizabeth throws a shawl about her shoulders and helps me pull my shirt over my head. "I'll check if there was any mail this morning while you finish up," she says, brushing her lips against my cheek before sweeping out of the room. I push myself up from the bed, suppressing a groan. Fatigue weighs heavily in my arms and legs as I pull on trousers and tuck in my shirt. I take my coat from a hook inside the open bureau as Elizabeth bursts back into the room her shawl askew and her eyes bright with excitement.

"Look, James! Look what I've had from Father!" she cries, flourishing a folded piece of parchment in front of me. Her excitement is infectious and I smile brightly at her from underneath my hat. "What is it?"

She unfolds the parchment, which I can see bears her father's wax seal on the back. With shaking hands she reads aloud, "_Commodore and my dearest Elizabeth, _As_ I am sure you have heard several English aristocrats have traveled down to see the industry that is booming here in Jamaica. In honour of their arrival I have planned a ball of sorts, and am cordially inviting the two of you to attend a fortnight from now on the 7__th__ of March. Please send word by Thomas whether I may expect you to attend. Yours, Father._"

She lifts her head from its bowed position over the letter and meets my eyes with sheer enthusiasm. "A ball, James!" she cries, holding the folded parchment to her chest and casting her eyes heavenward as though this ball were of divine origins.

"Aye, a ball," I say, smiling broadly, not because I will be forced to dress up for a night of dancing and politicking with formal diplomats, but because my wife is so delighted.

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow. "Aye, a ball?" she asks, obviously displeased with my less than jovial tone, "Is that all you can say? We haven't had an opportunity like this in, well, months, years even. You could show a bit more excitement."

I cup Elizabeth's chin and kiss her cheek firmly. "Trust me, my dear, though I may not show it, I am happier than you could ever imagine. This will be an opportunity for both of us that shan't be missed."

She is silent for a moment, pondering my words, chewing on them to see if they hold any merit, and then, suddenly, her eyes widen in a state of shock. "I must speak with Betsy this instant or else I shan't have anything at all to wear!" she cries, worry clouding her face. I chuckle to myself at how quickly her mood may be changed as she hurries from the room, her shawl left on the floor forgotten.

---

I check the time on my pocket watch and glance impatiently at the solidarity of Elizabeth's closed bedroom door. With a sigh I resume my pacing up and down the corridor in impatience. Elizabeth and Betsy have been at it nearly two hours, and I fear that if they use one more minute we shall be quite late. Pulling my shoulders back I steel myself, and raise a hand to knock firmly on the door.

"Yes, James? What is it?" Elizabeth calls. There is a hint of annoyance in her voice that I do not dare miss.

"You're not seeing the King of England you know," I say dryly. Silence greets my comment, and at first I fear that she has chosen to ignore me and will continue her preparations until we most assuredly are late. Suddenly, the rustle of petticoats and the clicking of heels against the wood floor greet my ears and become louder until the door is swung open wide and Elizabeth steps out her lips pursed.

My eyes widen and Elizabeth's cool demeanour melts, stifling a laugh. "James, really, you've got a ridiculous look on your face. Someone would think you've been knocked in the head if they saw you."

I say nothing, wishing to enjoy the view as much as I can before I must share it with all the other guests at the ball. Her face is radiant and her hair has been done up and curled in a way which frames her face magnificently. A pearl earring dangles from each ear matching the pearl necklace hanging closely about her neck. The mulberry-coloured mantua gown opens onto a lace stomacher, which matches the lace peeking from the trumpet-shaped sleeves. Elizabeth smoothes down the front of the gown, and looks at me expectantly, for I have been silent for some time.

"You are beautiful," I breathe, lifting her delicate hand to my mouth. My eyes meet hers as I press my lips to her skin, and she does not look away or blink. "I fear I shall have a terribly hard time sharing you this evening."

Elizabeth covers my hand with her free one, and runs her thumb over my knuckles. "I'm afraid you must," she says. "I would not be parted from you this evening if that were possible, but I am afraid it will become inevitable for proprieties sake."

I nod, and lower her hands. "You are right," and then I smile mischievously, "But that does not change the fact that I am sure you will be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight."

Elizabeth looks down at my flattery, but I see the glint of quiet delight in her eyes and know that she is pleased with the attention even if she does not say so herself. Her hand pressed firmly, but gently in mine, I lead Elizabeth down the staircase and to the waiting carriage outside.

---

"It's so wonderful to see you again, my dear Elizabeth, Commodore," Governor Swann exudes warmly, kissing his daughter's cheek fondly and grasping my hand in a warm, fatherly handshake. "And how are you getting on?"

The question is directed more at Elizabeth than myself, and so I let her answer. Taking her father's hands in her own Elizabeth looks into his eyes and answers in a tender, yet strong voice, "I am fine, Father. We're fine. Please do not worry. I am very happy."

Governor Swann gives his daughter's hands a loving squeeze that does not match the taken-aback look upon his face, "I understand you my dear," he says, "I shan't keep you any longer then, as I'm sure you have many people to see and meet."

We nod in unison, our faces set somewhere between that façade of happiness from so long ago and the fresh-faced future we both yearn for. The crush of couples and military men entering from outside threatens from behind, and without another word we step inside the mansion's brightly lit entrance hall. A few people linger on the threshold admiring the general splendour of a house in which they have never been, but to Elizabeth and I the house is as familiar as a parent is to a child. Without encouragement Elizabeth entwines her arm with mine as we swerve to the left and enter a side parlor.

The room is hot and already I feel overwhelmed by the size of the crowd and the heat of bodies packed tightly together. Now I remember why I haven't been to a ball in so long. Beside me Elizabeth rocks backward and forward on her heels noticeably eager to begin the night. A passing servant offers up two glasses of champagne one of which Elizabeth takes, as I politely decline.

Making a conscious decision not to continue standing in the doorway I move toward the group of men to our immediate right. They are a boisterous bunch, but as soon as I step within range of their circle their laughter goes silent, and they stare at me expectantly. Suddenly Harrison, one of my own lieutenants, thrusts his hand forward to shake mine vigorously.

"Commodore!" he cries, "I had no idea you would be here, Sir."

I shake back just as vigorously in an attempt to convey my feelings of pleasure at seeing one of my own here amongst strangers. "No idea?" I respond, and I turn to gesture to Elizabeth hovering by my shoulder, "My wife is the Governor's daughter, Harrison. Certainly the drink hasn't gone to your head that quickly as to make you forget."

Just over Harrison's laughter I hear whispers of "Governor's daughter?" rippling through the group of men. Elizabeth fidgets beside me, her miniscule shift in weight conveying her unhappiness with how the situation has turned. Taking matters into my own hands, for I know Harrison will not, I step forward, and clasping my hands behind my back in a rather military stance, I introduce myself.

"Commodore James Norrington," I say, and am greeted with nods and raised glasses. I open the circle slightly to admit Elizabeth in. "This is my wife, Elizabeth. As you now know she is the daughter of our most generous host."

Murmured greetings move around the circle and there are warm smiles and hands for her to clasp as every member of the party is introduced. As soon as the introduction is finished the atmosphere shifts and Elizabeth lowers her eyes demurely before retreating to the group of women on the far side of the room.

Thus we are trapped in the vicious social circle, a wheel forever turning, lowering and raising up its inhabitants with each cycle. As soon as Elizabeth is gone the talk turns to politics. There are several strong-minded aristocrats in the group, and I find that it is appropriate for me not to speak right away. In this time my eyes wander over the crowd to rest on the other side of the room where I can just make out the top of Elizabeth's head amongst all the feathers and plumage. She stands amongst those of her rank; the women who have been born and bred in luxury. A few feet away stand another group of women. There is no physical difference that can be detected between the two groups, but it is obvious to those with trained eyes that these women are the newly rich who know naught what to do with such wealth and flaunt it exceedingly.

I watch Elizabeth for some time, commenting on the conversation here and there so as not to come across as unsocial. Her facial features, at first calm and collected, begin to show signs of distress. The gossiping women directly behind her glance furtively at her turned back several times, and with each glance I feel the tension tighten like the taut rope holding a sail. Sensing trouble, I excuse myself from the group with a nod of my head and a thank you for an enjoyable conversation.

Elizabeth's eyes snap directly to mine as I slip through the crowd in an unhurried fashion so as not to alarm or arouse suspicion of any kind. I see her longing to break away from the group of tittering women, but she knows she must stay put until I call her away. In an instant I am by her side.

"You must excuse us," I say to the gawking women, "I've promised my wife a dance. . ."

Trailing off I grip Elizabeth's arm steadily and lead her through the open doors to the room beyond where the sawing of a violin can be heard above the din. "Shall we dance?" I ask, and without waiting for a reply, I pull her toward me and step into the swirling throng of dancers.

We had danced only once before, at our wedding, and I did not think we were such a poorly couple then. However, as we make a stately waltz around the room I find myself trodding upon Elizabeth's feet as her hands go limp in mine. Our bodies are disjointed and try as I might I cannot keep our arms and legs from becoming an entangled and uncoordinated mass.

"You're doing a fine job of keeping this ship afloat, my dear," I say jokingly so that only Elizabeth can hear. She lifts her face to meet mine, and I come to an abrupt halt. Her cheeks are tear-stained and her eyes are rimmed with red. I search them for some sign as to what is the matter and will her to say something, but her lip trembles instead. "We will go," are my final words before I usher her from the gaiety of the ballroom and again through the unbearable heat and rush of the room beyond. We meet her father at the door, and when he catches sight of his daughter's face his visage crumples with concern.

"Her room is just upstairs, James," he says, wringing his hands as I support Elizabeth with an arm about her waist. "Perhaps it is just the heat and excitement. I could have water brought up to her."

Elizabeth smiles, her face lightening a little with the love only a daughter can feel for her father. "I am all right, Father. I just need to go home and rest. Please do not worry about me."

The exact same words from earlier. Governor Swann takes note of this, but kisses his daughter's forehead and says no more of it. "Yes, you will be fine. You are in the Commodore's care after all. I trust him."

Elizabeth's weight slips from my grasp, and tightens her grip on my shoulder to keep from falling. She is eager to leave, and with a curt good evening to the Governor I help Elizabeth down the steps of the great house. As soon as the door is shut Elizabeth slumps against me.

"Help me, James," I hear her whisper, and without hesitation I sweep her up into my arms. She is weightless, almost a feather easily blown away in the wind. She clings to my neck and does not let go until I have placed her gently into the carriage. When the door shuts I ask, "What is the matter? What happened?"

She does not respond right away, and I do not press her. I have come to understand that, while it may take Elizabeth time to respond, when she does it is with complete honesty. The carriage rattles on, and I stare at my hands clasped in my lap. A sigh escapes from Elizabeth's lips, and there is a rustling of satin as she turns toward me. I lift my face to meet hers.

She has been crying silently again, for there are fresh tears upon her face, and even now one clings to the end of her nose, hanging on for something. Distraught, she pushes a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, which dart this way and that unable to focus. She swallows hard and opens her mouth.

"I thought he was behind now," she says, wiping her eyes with the back of hand, "P-part of a past that I would not have to face again. Those _women_," she pronounces this with contempt, "know nothing of it, and they feel it is their right, nay their privilege, to bring such things up in a public setting as though it would make them more. . . more –"

She trails off, her hands clenched into fists in her lap, as she stares at something I cannot see. "What are you speaking of?" I ask, thoroughly confused.

My wife blinks at me as though she has just remembered that I am there. "Why, Will, of course," she says her voice heavy with underlying emotion. "They were talking about Will, James! They said that if I'd been wife to one of their husbands he would have surely thrown me out or had me hung for being an adulteress! And there I was, unable to _say_ anything or _defend_ myself against their vicious remarks and their name-calling. A whore, James, that's what they called me! The Commodore's whore!" Tears stream unchecked down her cheeks again, as she spits out every painstaking word.

Elizabeth collapses against me, sobbing into my chest, her hands clutching at my waistcoat. I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her to me, and run a hand over hair, kissing the same spot over and over again.

"You are not a whore, Elizabeth, nor were you ever one. You have made mistakes, but haven't we all?" I ask over her sobs, which quiet with each gentle caress. "Those women have no right to judge. They are strangers here and have only heard the gossip that may be found everywhere. In a few weeks they will leave again, and all that will be left are those who know the truth of the matter and who would not care either way."

Her head surfaces only inches from mine. I can see my reflection in her glassy brown eyes. "And do you love me still despite all the trouble I have given you and the grief I have caused?" Her words come out choked and strained. The ocean crashes nearby, and I knock on the roof of the carriage with a sudden idea in mind.

"James, you didn't answer my question."

"Give me a minute."

Elizabeth looks slightly affronted at my distracted tone. The carriage rumbles to a halt, and Thomas opens the door. I jump out with renewed vigour reveling in the night air and the sound of the ocean tide pulling in and out. I grasp Elizabeth's outstretched hand and help her down the steps before lifting her into my arms again. She is too surprised and perhaps curious to speak, so I pick my way across the road and down the rocky incline in silence. The sand is warm through my booted feet, and I have to fight to keep from sinking with each step. Setting Elizabeth down on the packed wet sand only a yard away from the foaming waves, I step away for a moment, stooping to grasp a handful of the whiter loose sand from farther up the beach.

"James, I don't understand."

She turns to me, her arms crossed, as I stride back to her again. Her eyebrows are drawn together almost comically, and they arch upward as I hold out the handful of grainy sand.

"See this?" I ask, and she nods uncertainly. "Memorise and count every grain in my hand." She stares at my outstretched palm caught between whether to laugh or take me seriously. A gust of wind blows out of the north then, and I take the opportunity to throw the brown specks into the air. They catch and scatter, lost to the naked eye amongst millions of their counterparts. "Now find every single grain that I just held. Only when you have done so will I stop loving you."

**Authoress' Note: **There are many different kinds of "firsts", and it seems this is the first time I've only written one author's note. :P Anyway, as you can tell I'm trying to update more frequently. I'm in the "home stretch" with this group of vignettes and am hoping to finish it up soon enough. I'm thinking there will be about 3 or so more after this one if all goes according to plan. I hope no one was bothered by the intense description of Elizabeth's gown. I did a lot of studying on styles from that time period and was so proud of myself that I went a little overboard with the description. Like James would know about stomachers and trumpet-sleeves. XD I should also apologise for the sappy ending. To be honest, I've been waiting to write an ending like that for ages, so I hope some people don't roll their eyes at it. Just let your inner hopeless romantic come out at that part, and you'll find it's easy enough to read. Now that I've written another story in itself… Please don't forget to review! Thanks so much!


	10. The First Regrets

**Authoress' Note: **I hope everyone is having a blessed Easter however you spend it, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. If you don't mind me saying so, I think it has some of the best dialogue I've ever written. All characters © Disney – Just because I haven't stated that in a while. Don't forget to review when your done reading!

**The First Regrets**

I follow Elizabeth with my eyes as she paces back and forth across her bedroom floor. I have not been in this room since marrying, and it is amazing to me how much it has changed. With Elizabeth's arrival it was no longer dominated by mismatched furniture covered with dusty white sheets, but was instead turned into her own separate living quarters. I vaguely remember it being used for perhaps six months after our marriage, until one night Elizabeth lay down beside me in the bed we share now, citing that the room down the corridor was much too big for one person. She has not used it for anything but a walk in cupboard since.

The room, which was once sparsely filled, now houses more dresses, feathers, and shoes than I have ever laid eyes on. They hang from every possible nook and cranny, leaving no space for any other furniture besides the stately bed in the centre of the room whose linens lie forever folded down for someone to sleep in.

My wife sighs, bring me back to the present, and I stare as she holds up a pair of gold earrings and then pearls for the fifth or sixth time. Suddenly, she turns to me and holds both pairs up for me to view. "Which one?" she asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. "You look beautiful either way," I say.

Impatiently she turns her back on me, and gazes at the two dangling sets in the mirror. "You may scoff," she snaps, her jaw rigid, "but at least I'm not dressed as though he's already _dead_."

I look down at my attire. She is right. Perhaps I shouldn't have worn the black cravat and the black waistcoat. "Shall I change into something more suitable?" I ask, standing up from my place on the bed.

She turns then, catching my arm before I can leave. "No, that's all right. I'm sorry, James. I didn't mean to be harsh with you. Everything seems to be going badly as of late, you know?"

She turns back toward the mirror, unclasps the gold earrings and slips on the pearl. Turning her head from side to side she allows a slight smile to curl the corners of her lips upward. "There, perfect. Father will appreciate these more I think. They were Mother's after all."

I stand up again, placing my broad hands on her thin-framed shoulders. She looks up at my reflection in the mirror and places her own hands atop mine. "He will be comforted to see you no matter what you wear, my dear. You are his only daughter after all, and I daresay he has missed you greatly since I took you away."

She nods, sobered by my words, and without another look in the mirror she leaves the room. I follow, my hands clasped behind my back and my mouth set in a rather grim line.

---

Charlotte, a servant woman Elizabeth has known since childhood, leads us up the front staircase of the Governor's mansion and down the corridor. The rooms to either side of us are darkened under the doorway except the one we stop at. A faint flickering of firelight creeps from underneath spilling out onto the carpeted floor where we stand waiting.

"The Governor asked to see his daughter first," she says, holding her candelabra aloft, "You may wait here, Commodore."

I nod, understanding, and step back to rest against the wall. Elizabeth glances at me fleetingly before entering the room. The door shuts with a dull thud behind her. Charlotte clears her throat, and I glance up at her.

"Would you like something to drink, Sir?" she asks, "Perhaps some whiskey or a glass of wine?"

I shake my head. "That's all right, Charlotte. Thank you."

She bobs a curtsy, and I listen intently as her muffled footsteps fade into the distance. The silence is suppressing, but not for long. Soon enough I hear snippets of conversation leak from underneath the door. Deep in my heart I know it to be a breach of trust to listen in, but I cannot help it. I find myself desiring to know what is being said in my absence.

Rattling breath and a wracking cough. "You look so much like your mother my dear," the Governor says. There is silence again followed by Elizabeth's soothing voice, "I do not remember her, Papa." There is a slight shifting and rustling of skirts. "Yes, you wouldn't. She died shortly after your birth. I missed her terribly for far too long. That's why I wanted us to come to Jamaica. I needed to escape more than anything else."

The Governor coughs loudly again, and Elizabeth speaks again. "I had no idea, Papa. You never said a word about it."

I hear a whistling sigh. "I did not want to burden you with such things, my love. You were young, with your whole childhood still ahead of you. My only concern was your happiness and health, both of which you have been blessed with."

More silence greets this revelation, and suddenly Elizabeth bursts into tears, her sobs muffled slightly through the door. The bed creaks, and in my mind's eye I imagine Governor Swann reaching out to put his arms around his grieving daughter.

"There now," he says gently, "Do not mourn for me. I may make a recovery yet, and even if I do not, I am old. I have lived a good, full life. We are not meant to live forever you know."

Elizabeth manages a hiccupping laugh through her tears, and again I can imagine the Governor's reassuring smile. He seems to know every right word to be said.

"James is a fine man, Elizabeth," the Governor says after a brief coughing spell. I consider pulling away then, unsure of whether I want to listen anymore or not. "You are a good match, and I must tell you how very proud I am of you to have made it thus far."

His choice of words sound as though he is preparing Elizabeth for some sort of race or fight for survival, and I hope more than anything that our life together has been more than that. "You will grow to love him in time. There now. What a lovely smile! You do love him, don't you?"

I strain to hear an answer, an affirmation of what I have been hoping to be true for so long, but Elizabeth's response is not audible. "It started much the same way with your mother and I," Governor Swann continues his voice lost in that realm of remembering, "but, it seems that just as I really began to realise what I had gained. . . I lost her."

Elizabeth sniffs loudly, and I know she is crying for the lost mother she never knew. Again there is a shift of weight on the bed mattress and then, "Do not make the same mistake I did, my daughter. You are young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Do not waste time dwelling on the past and what could have been."

The muffled sobs subside, softer more genteel words are exchanged that I cannot hear, and I move hastily away from the wall as Elizabeth's footsteps near the door once again. She opens it to find me staring out of the window, hands clasped behind my back, feigning interest in a bird hopping about on the branches of the tree outside. She hesitates before closing the door behind her.

"He wishes to speak with you."

I nod in acknowledgment and open the painted wood door, step inside, and shut it gently behind me. I can feel the Governor's eyes on my back, burning a hole directly to my soul. That is how it always seems to be with those who have lived for so long. They have a certain wisdom and omniscience that, if tangible, would pierce directly into ones heart. Governor Swann is no different, and I turn to face him with a steady gaze.

Contentment radiates from his very being as he sits upon his bed, the linens drawn up about him, and numerous pillows propped behind him. There is no doubt that he sick. His hands, which should lies still in his lap, seem to move of their own accord, fluttering this way and that though he clasps them in an effort to exude serenity. His breathing is a struggle of its own. Each breath rattles in, shaking his very bones, and is borne outward in a wheezing sigh.

I take off my hat respectfully, and move to his bedside. He looks up at me with those paled blue eyes, so unlike Elizabeth's. "You are more than appropriately dressed, James," he says, and I blanch slightly, embarrassed. He chuckles and wheezes hoarsely, covering his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. "Come now, James, I'm a dying man. You must humour me."

I am unsure how to respond, and the Governor senses my discomfort. "Sit down, James," he says, "There's no point in standing on formalities at a time like this."

I nod, swallowing hard, and lower myself to a position next to him on the edge of the bed. A vague memory surfaces in my mind of having been in such a place before, many years ago when my own father died. Governor Swann sits up a little straighter.

"Now then, as I said, I do not expect to live much longer. In fact, there would probably need to be a miracle in order for me to remain amongst all of you much longer," the Governor chooses his words carefully, glancing at me every once in a while to make sure that I comprehend each thing he says. "You are probably wondering why I have called you here, James."

"Yes, Sir," I say, forgetting the rule about no formalities. The Governor raises an eyebrow.

He is silent for a moment, contemplating something as he stares at some fixed point across the room. "I have many regrets, " he whispers, and I lean closer to hear him. "I spent more time politicking than with my family, and I never told my wife that I loved her." He sighs. "That is my chief regret, and I have done all I can to make up for it by loving my daughter. She is the only thing I have left in this world, James, and I fear I have not done enough."

I shake my head. "Sir, you have done more than enough. You- "

"No," he says forcefully, cutting me off mid-sentence. "You do not understand. For some time I have felt that I forced my daughter into marrying you. I forbid her true love for the sake of propriety and convenience. You have no idea how guilty I felt for doing such a thing to her. I had made so many mistakes before, and now, I thought at the time, here I am, making these same mistakes again."

A knot of anxiety forms in my stomach, and a stifling sense of foreboding falls over the room. This conversation is not going in the direction I had expected. The Governor sees the confliction upon my face, yet he continues with his onslaught.

"I knew that you loved her from the beginning, and I knew that no matter how much she spurned you, you would still love her. That knowledge is what caused me the most pain. Not only had I condemned my daughter, I had also placed her in the hands of someone who would genuinely love her, but would never be loved in return. That thought burned me, for now I had condemned two lives and not one."

I stand up then, unable to sit near this man who has lain bare such an intimate part of my life. My face burns with shame, and each word cuts at my skin like the lash of the whip. His voice has grown louder with emotion, and all of a sudden it drops to a soft whisper again. I remain standing apart from him, my breathing heavy, and the urge to hit something, anything, still coursing through my veins.

"Yet, here I am, as content as I could ever be, because of Elizabeth and because of you." He smiles, and the coils in my stomach relax slightly. I unclench my hands. "You are not the same man who married my daughter, and she is not the same woman. You have been through more together than I think either of you could have imagined, and yet you remain faithful. You did not make the mistakes I did by rushing into that societal norm called family. You waited, James. You waited, and thus gained Elizabeth's respect, and now her love."

My face must be contorted into some manner of surprise because Governor Swann laughs a bit before continuing, "Yes, James, she does love you. She said it to me, albeit a bit tearfully, but she does."

"Yes," I say, almost breathless, anticipating more. All the previous hurt I had felt has dissipated and has been replaced by a giddiness that I cannot seem to control.

"You must promise me this," Governor Swann says, and I sit down again, trying to control myself, unafraid now to take his wrinkled hands in mine. There is a closeness here that I have never felt before even with my own father. "Promise me that you will continue to be patient with her. She will tell you of her feelings in her own time, and I cannot promise that time will be soon considering the circumstances. Mourn with her, love her, and help her move on. She will need your unwavering love in the coming months."

I nod numbly, not trusting myself enough to speak. The Governor pats my hands gently, and lets them go.

"You have a bright future ahead of yourselves," he says, "And though I am doubtless the way will be easy, you will have each other and I know that will be enough. I could not be happier to leave my daughter with such a man as yourself, James."

"Thank you, Sir," I say breathlessly, joy expanding in my chest, "I will not disappoint you."

"I know," Governor Swann replies, giving me a twinkling smile. He settles back in his pillows, and I know then that my audience is over. Jamming my hat back on my head I stride to the door with renewed vigour and am so full of energy that I forget to shut the door quietly as I leave.

Elizabeth's brow is knit with worry. "Is something the matter?" she whispers, slipping her arm through mine as we make our way back down the corridor. "I heard raised voices."

My voice sounds sinfully cheerful, as I reply, "No, nothing is the matter at all."

---

I lay my head against the pillows, letting my hands rest on top of the down coverlet. A lone candle flickers from its place on the side table casting Elizabeth's silhouette onto the opposite wall. She licks her finger and turns the page of her book, her eyes darting back and forth across the page. She has been terribly quiet since our visit to her father, saying nothing about what transpired between the two nor asking what happened between her father and myself. I watch her intently, realising after a few minutes that she has stopped reading. With a dull thud she closes her book, and sets it lightly on the table beside her. I turn over on my side waiting for her to blow out the candle to plunge us into darkness. It has been a long day, and my eyes are heavy with the anticipation of sleep.

Elizabeth shifts beside me, and the light does not go out. I turn back over to ask what the matter is and am greeted by her small form sitting upright, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. She looks at me, resting her cheek on her knee, and I sit up, puzzled.

"What are you thinking of?" I ask, recognising the look of her furrowed brow and clouded eyes.

She lifts her head, looks away from me, and then rests her chin on her arms. "I have so many regrets, James."

Today seems to be full of them.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking today, when we were visiting Father, how short life is. How it should not be wasted."

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry. Seeing my face she continues hastily, "I do not mean to say that my life with you has been wasted. I only wish that…" her voice lowers as she trails off into silence. I sit up, and lift her chin with my hands to face me.

"Speak," I say quietly, "You do not have to fear voicing your regrets. Perhaps they can be mended even now."

Elizabeth nods and swallows before speaking again. "I wish we'd had children, James, before my father dies. Somehow I feel as though I have let him… and you, down in that respect."

She chooses her words carefully, and stares at me, waiting for a reply, waiting for something. My mouth is ridiculously dry, and I have no idea what to say. Today has been a day full of surprises, and thinking at a time such as this seems impossible. Elizabeth continues to wait. I clear my throat. "You should not regret such a thing, Elizabeth. It can be easily remedied you know, and your father is not gone from us yet. He is sick, yes, but there is still a chance that he will make a recovery." I am speaking much too fast, and Elizabeth begins to laugh suddenly.

"What? I'm being serious!" I cry, bristling slightly.

"I know," she says, "I know. You sound so sincere, and I want to believe everything you say is true."

"But it can be," I whisper, "We are young. There is time."

The laughter freezes in midair, and she looks down at her clasped hands, her face flushed. I place my hand against her cheek, turning her face toward me. Our lips are mere inches apart, and already my heart is pounding somewhere in my throat. Her eyes bore into mine, and she licks her lips. Her breath is surprisingly cool against my face.

She blinks, breaking the moment and moves away from my touch. "I love you, James," she whispers, "I'm sure you know that by now, but I cannot… It's not the right time."

I draw back, my face falling a bit as I nod. "I understand. You are right."

Seeing my crestfallen look Elizabeth burrows down under the covers, and pulls me down by the front of my shirt. I lay down next her as she nestles against my chest, pulling my arm around her protectively.

"Good-night, James."

"Good-night, Elizabeth."


	11. The First Loss

**Authoress' Note: **Good news everyone! This is not the second to last chapter anymore. I've lost control of this story and am dragging it on for another 3 more chapters. That should make people happy. :) I was wondering if people would be interested in an epilogue to these vignettes. I wasn't planning on writing one, but an idea came to me on the bus ride home last week that I could potentially write a little something set a few years after the end of these vignettes. What do you think of that? It would be ace if people could comment on that in their reviews. Thanks! Enjoy!

**The First Loss**

The edge of my vision blurs as I stare at the intricate lace detailing on Governor Swann's cuff. It is all I can do to avoid looking at his face, a face that seems to draw me in more than anything else in the drafty church. For a moment I turn my attention to Elizabeth who leans on my arm for support attempting to muffle her cries in a handkerchief pressed to her lips. Her eyes are red rimmed and glossy, and she dabs at them without feeling as the priest preaches in an unbearably loud pitch about the saving grace of Christ. His voice seems to ricochet off the walls, and I long to cover my ears at its harshness.

My eyes slide over to the casket again, sweeping across the Governor's sleeping visage. He looks so calm, so peaceful. The absolute opposite of those he has left behind. The booming priest and the weepy congregation somehow do not feel right, and I wonder if Elizabeth can feel this as well. Somehow they are out of place amongst the steady calm that was Weatherby Swann's life.

It had been that way at my own father's funeral, a congregation of people sobbing on about a good life gone. But they hadn't known him for the monster he was. I hadn't even known him in the way my mother did as she cowered under his abusive hand. I close my eyes on these painful memories, and the casket closes with a bitter thud of finality.

Rain begins to fall lightly as we exit the church on the rocky crag of hill overlooking the shining Caribbean Sea. Even the angels are crying it seems; at least, the one walking next to me is. Her face is veiled in black gauze that sticks to her cheeks as the tears fall. Our carriage, shrouded in black, is the only one that follows the horse-drawn hearse down the hill to a simple cemetery. Each drop of rain creates indentions in the dirt as two men of the town labor in vain in a hole slowly filling with rainwater. They lower the casket carefully, and stand back, doffing their caps respectfully despite the weather.

The priest says something about death and dust, but I cannot hear him above the thunder ringing through the heavens. He makes the sign of the cross over the freshly covered grave, shuts his Bible hastily as the rain pours harder and makes his way through the headstones to the kissing-gate beyond. I can feel Elizabeth shivering next to me, and I place a comforting arm around her waist.

Grasping her by the arm, intending to guide her, I say, "Come, Elizabeth. You'll catch cold out here if we stay any longer. . ."

She remains rooted to the spot her eyes fixed on the headstone with her father's name carved onto its front.

"Elizabeth, please. . ." I say urgently, pressing her arm more firmly and glancing up at the ever-darkening sky, only to blink away heavy raindrops caught in my eyelashes.

Suddenly, her legs buckle beneath her, and she falls out of my grasp across the darkened earth now running with rivulets of rainwater. New sobs rise afresh as her tears mix with the freezing rain pouring in sheets from above.

I stoop, gathering my wife in my arms. Her arms come to rest about my neck as she cries ever harder into my shoulder. Limbs numb from the cold all I can think of is getting into the carriage. Once inside I continue to hold her in my arms, her wails mingling with the pounding of rain on the roof. Upon our arrival at the house I head straight for our bedroom, calling for Betsy. Elizabeth's crying has ceased, and she looks up at me with unfocused eyes. Her teeth chatter together of their own accord as she shivers in the chill air.

"Is the missus all right, Sir?" Betsy asks her brow knit with worry as she goes about warming water for a bath.

"Don't worry Betsy, please," I say, laying Elizabeth on the four-poster where she proceeds to curl into a ball. "It's been a trying day for her, and I think a hot bath and fresh clothes will do her nicely."

"Yes, Sir."

I place a kiss on Elizabeth's damp hair and leave Betsy to her work, pausing only once to glance at my wife's small form trembling on the bed.

---

That evening I eat supper alone. Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen, but I can feel her presence around me as though she is sitting at the end of this very same table. Later, as I retire to our bedroom for some early rest I catch Thomas on his way down the stairs.

"Thomas, have you seen Elizabeth?"

"No, Sir," Thomas responds with a shake of his head, "I haven't seen her myself, but Betsy reckons her to be lurking about in the library. We thought it best not to bother her right now."

I sigh. "That's fine. Thank you, Thomas."

"Of course, Sir."

Wearily, I enter our bedroom and cross to the bureau where I place my coat on a hook, along with the hat and the powdered wig that I despise so much. I bend over to slip off my boots, and upon straightening I glance at myself in the looking glass upon the wall opposite me. Shadowed eyes, made older in the wane light, stare back at me. I blink once, and startled, I turn to face Elizabeth who stands in the centre of the room, wearing her nightgown, her arms crossed and her face stained with tears. I did not hear her enter.

"James," she whispers, her bottom lip quivering.

I go to her and wrap her up in my arms. She rests her cheek against my shoulder, sniffling as the darkness settles in from outside. Her hair feels like silk against my rough hands, and I stroke it gently, shushing her as a mother would a child. When she quiets again I make ready for bed. She lies down, and when I slip under the covers next to her a few minutes later she stirs from a semi-conscious state. Her hand collides with mine, and she grasps it tightly, pulling it close against her heart, which I can feel beating beneath her nightgown. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

"James, what did my father say to you that day we went to visit him?"

"He said I should love you, mourn with you, and help you move on."

She nods, but does not open her eyes. "Whatever happened to your father, James?"

The question startles me at first, and when I do not respond right away Elizabeth opens her eyes again. "Tell me about him, James. What kind of a man was he? Surely he must have been like you, noble and loving. . ."

I shake my head. "I did not know my father as you knew yours, Elizabeth. He was a distant figure in my life and much more concerned with my elder brother. He hated me for joining the navy, and when I was offered a place on the _Dauntless_ I jumped at the chance to escape him."

"I'm sorry, James," Elizabeth whispers, her voice strangled, "I had no idea."

"Don't apologise. We can't choose our parents, and besides, he's been dead for a few years now anyway."

"And you don't have any regrets concerning him? You never wish that you'd had the chance to redeem yourself in your father's eyes?"

My lips tip into a frown, and I squeeze Elizabeth's hand in mine, pondering. Finally, shaking my head, I respond, "No, I have no regrets. He was a stubborn man, and no matter what I did I would not be able to please him. What's done is done."

Satisfied with my answer Elizabeth pulls the covers up around her and closes her eyes, still clutching my hand to her chest. All is silent for some time, until out of the darkness a quiet sound emerges.

"I miss him, James."

Elizabeth's voice is wrought with pain and thick with the cries I know she is forcing herself to swallow down. I reach toward her and draw her into my arms where she quivers violently though no tears come. After some time her tensed muscles relax against me, and she is finally able to sleep.

---

The following morning we visit Governor Swann's grave. The clouds have cleared up in the night and the sun is blindingly bright to the eyes. Little is said between the two of us as we stand side by side staring down at the headstone. Around us are the graves of other inhabitants of Port Royal. Some are crumbled with age, whilst others, like the Governor's, are covered with new soil, still dark from the overturned earth. I don't know what Elizabeth thinks of during that time. Perhaps she is remembering, or perhaps her mind is blank. She cries some days, and I know that those days I need to be closer to her than ever.

Every day afterward is a new challenge, and life is rough for a while, just as Elizabeth's father predicted. I watch in despair as Elizabeth becomes reclusive, turning away from me in her grief. I find myself hoping for some sort of sign that will tell me when every thing will be all right again; when my wife will look at me without those hollow eyes. Many times, in desperation, I have told her to go to the priest in an attempt to ease her pain, but she will not go, and I am helpless to her.

I arrive home one afternoon to find the house empty and silent. I know immediately where Elizabeth has gone. My heart sinks as I ride my horse up the hill to the stone church. This is the first time she has gone without me, and the fear of being pushed away is very real inside of me. My wife's lone figure rises up out of the mass of headstones. I push open the kissing-gate slowly and make my way toward her. She looks up as I approach and smiles. It is the first smile I have seen upon her face in months, and it is radiant.

"Are you well?" I ask gently, cautiously.

She nods and reaches out to me, enfolding her self in my embrace. After a few moments she steps back, her hands resting lightly on my chest. She looks utterly content, a stark contrast to the last few months. She gazes into my eyes for some time, and I search hers for any sign of the helplessness and unhappiness that had been present before. It seems to have gone out with the tide, and I hope that it will not come back in.

Elizabeth runs a slender finger over my lined forehead, smoothing it over. "Do not worry yourself so much, James. You knew I could not live like this forever. At some point I would run out of tears to cry. . ."


	12. The First Time

**Authoress' Note:** Okay everyone, this is it. This is the moment people have been expecting since the first chapter. (At least I've been expecting it. :P) This is what is going to earn this fic a T rating, so please prepare yourselves. The scene in particular is in no way graphic or explicit, but there are many implied things. If you're not comfortable reading about sexual situations then I suggest you skip over the last few paragraphs. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a sex scene. (LOL. That sounds quite perverted somehow.)

**The First Time**

"A bit to the left. No, no, now to the right."

Beads of sweat roll down my back as I teeter precariously on one of Thomas's ladders above the sitting room fireplace mantle. Elizabeth lolls against the doorframe giving instructions as to the placement of her mother's portrait. "There now, that's perfect!" She smiles, and I jump down from my perch, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. Mrs. Swann gazes down at us serenely, her face forever held in a stance of youthful beauty. Elizabeth's resemblance to her is extremely striking.

"James, it's terribly hot today, and we're finally finished with all this moving. Will you go to the seashore with me?" Elizabeth asks from her place in the doorway, her voice hopeful. Her rocking back and forth is beginning to make me dizzy.

I look back at the painting on the wall, and think of the work sitting in a pile upon the desk in my study. The tropical heat is stifling as it seeps through the house. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead again to brush away beads of sweat forming there, my mind fixed on the crashing waves and cool sea air. Elizabeth's offer is tempting.

"I'm sorry, it's too far," I say, looking down at the floor, "I've got several orders to write today. They must get done one way or another."

Elizabeth stops her movement, and I glance up at her with a sorry smile. She glares back haughtily and turns hastily on her heel to leave me alone again. I make my way up to my study, grateful for the fact that we have finally finished moving all of the late governor's belongings into our home.

I lean back in my desk chair and sigh. Only a few months earlier Elizabeth had been completely house-ridden, too grief-stricken to go anywhere but the church, cemetery, and home. Now, in the dead heat of the summer she wants to be outside and _everywhere_. Already, it seems, we have trekked across every remote area in Port Royal. Her desire to be adventurous, and at times, utterly scandalous cannot seem to be satiated.

Alone now I take off my wig and coat, both sticky with humidity and perspiration, and drape them on a coat rack in the corner of the room. A slight breeze outside rocks the native palm trees back and forth. I loosen my cravat and open the window, leaning out over the garden to catch the breath of wind coming up from the sea. Water in a fountain trickles nearby, and my mind slips into oblivion as all thoughts of work are forgotten. We should have gone to the sea despite my protests. . . Elizabeth should have dragged me there for my own good. . .

"Sir?"

I shake my head, and turn to Thomas, who stands with a letter in his hand.

"This came from your brother."

I take the letter, nodding, my mouth dry from the intake of salty air. Tearing open the letter, I read quickly, my eyes scanning the page.

_My dear brother,_

_I am writing to inform you that my visit with our mother has come to an end. I will be joining my wife and her parents on the Continent within the week. Do pray that my journey will go well. I'm sorry I have not had time to write. I assure you, Mother is in fine health and is doing well on her own. I expect she will join me on the Continent within the year, and I hope we will see you there soon as well. Good luck with your endeavours in Port Royal._

_Your brother, etc._

_John_

_See you there soon, indeed._ John has never been fond of my gallivanting about the Caribbean. I roll my eyes at my brother's indiscretion and make to throw the letter into the grate to be burned at a later date. Suddenly, singing floats in through the open window. It is high-pitched, but not unpleasant, and slightly off tune, but lovely nonetheless, and it is coming closer. I move toward the window to search for its source. Elizabeth is walking through the garden in one of her summer dresses, her hair hanging in loose curls about her face.

"Elizabeth!" I call down, waving the letter in my free hand.

She looks up, squinting as she brings a hand up to her eyes to shield them from the sun. The light has made her porcelain cheeks and nose tan with freckles, and slightly pink with the heat.

"What's that you've got?" she asks.

"It's a letter from my brother. He's going back to the Continent and intends to drag my mother along with him."

"Oh," Elizabeth lets her hand drop from her face. I can no longer see her eyes as she turns to look at something off to her right. "I don't really care to hear about him, James. All he seems to do is make me upset, and it's much too hot for that," she fans herself with one hand, "Would you please get out of that stifling house and come down here? It'll do you a world of good."

I glance back at the letter and then at my work still left unfinished on the desk. I hesitate, torn between the urgency of work and the sudden feeling growing in me that something is going to happen today, something completely unexpected. Tossing the letter aside, I bound out of the room and outside to where Elizabeth waits in the garden. She looks up at my approach and smiles.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming down here," she says, hopping up onto the low fountain wall. She stares down at her reflection. "This is one of the warmest summers I think we've ever had, James."

"Yes, I think so as well, though it doesn't quite live up to the heat of India."

"India?" Elizabeth asks, one eyebrow raised, "You've never said anything of it."

"You've never asked," I reply, "Besides there's not much to say about it. All I remember is it being hot and crowded all the time."

"It sounds terribly exciting. You know I haven't been anywhere other than England and Port Royal. The world is a large place. I'd love to see more of it someday."

I gaze at Elizabeth, transfixed, as she walks steadily about the edge of the fountain, placing one foot in front of the other. Somewhere to my left a bird chirps loudly. "Perhaps we can go to India someday then or any other place in the world you'd like to go."

"What about Africa?" she asks looking up at me again, "Have you been there?"

"Only along the coast and from very far off. I've seen more of India than anything else."

She nods, dipping her bare toes lightly in the coolness of the fountain. She pauses suddenly, as though waiting on a precipice, before taking a leap into the water. Upon seeing my face she bursts out laughing. "Don't look so scandalized, James. People take dips like this all the time. I hear that it's becoming all the rage in England."

She reaches for my arm, and stumbling, I am pulled into the fountain after her. The water is up to Elizabeth's knees, causing her pale gown to float upon the surface. Before I know it she has the gown unbuttoned and draped over the low brick wall. She is a sight to see with her crisp white chemise fluttering about her knees.

"Don't stare, love, it's terribly demeaning," she says, hands on her hips and mock sternness in her voice, "It makes me feel like a piece of meat at the market." I avert my eyes toward a flowering plant nearby, and out of nowhere I receive a splash of water to the face.

"Got you!" Elizabeth cries triumphantly as she bounds through the water, her chemise hiked up to her thighs. I slog as quickly as I can after her, this way and that, as we splash at each other attempting to make the other more wet, without getting ourselves splashed in the meantime. It is a futile process, and finally, breathless, we fall in a heap on the edge of the fountain where we dangle our feet in the water, the heat of the day completely forgotten.

Elizabeth sighs contentedly, resting her head upon my shoulder, her hand creeping over mine where it stays, entwined. A light wind plays across the garden rustling the palm trees and tropical flora. Elizabeth shivers slightly.

"We should get changed," she says softly.

She stands up, leading me by the hand, her summer dress completely forgotten. We enter the house through a pair of side French doors and peer into the entrance hall cautiously. Our bare feet slap against the tile floor making loud squelching sounds as we walk. Elizabeth puts a finger to her lips as she herself tries to stifle a laugh.

"Betsy will have our heads if she finds us walking through here with wet feet."

"Perhaps it will be better if only one of us walks through with wet feet," I say, and sweep Elizabeth up and over my shoulder.

"James!"

She pounds her fists against my back, but finding herself utterly defeated, collapses into a fit of laughter as we pass the dining room. Thomas pokes his head out, staring at the two of us with wide eyes and a bemused smile.

"James Norrington, put me down this instant!"

"You don't understand, Mrs. Norrington. I'd rather Betsy have my head than yours. Yours is much too pretty to be given up."

Elizabeth gives an exasperated cry and resigns herself to propping her head up with two hands underneath her chin as we make our way up the stairs and down the corridor. Setting her down, I push open the bedroom door. I walk in first, and Elizabeth follows behind me. The door shuts, and the lock clicks into place.

"Elizabeth?"

Suddenly, her arms are around me, encircling my chest. My breath hitches as I catch her arm and spin her around to face me. She stares at me, the laughter still upon her face, although she is flushed considerably and breathing hard.

"Would you like to explore a different India tonight?" Her question comes out in a rush of breath and lingers in the air between us, an open invitation. I shiver involuntarily as she steps closer to me.

Only a moment passes before her lips are on mine, her arms encircling me again. She is bolder than I expect. With her lips against mine she explores hidden recesses with her tongue, pressing her lithe body fully against me. I have her trapped against the bed the air between us used up with each gasp between fervent kisses that taste of salt and something bittersweet, like lime. Elizabeth makes quick work of my damp shirt, and I only begin to realise what we are doing, where we are going, when its weight is shrugged from my shoulders. Hoarse whispers echo in a darkening room.

"Elizabeth. . ."

"James. . . I am ready. I love you. _Please_."

_I have waited so long. . ._

Blood rushes in my ears, and in my haste her chemise is torn as I help her pull it over her head. I run a hand through my hair to calm my quaking nerves and to remind myself that I must have some control. I must wait for her. Only a little longer now. . .

My hands are reverent upon her untouched skin, tracing each undiscovered path. I trail a hand over her hipbone and _down_ until she arches her back to meet my fingertips. A soft moan escapes her lips followed by a sigh, "James. . . please," which I silence with my lips crashing upon hers. With each gentle caress I allow her to know pleasure before myself. The air around us is hot and heavy, drenched with our desire. Elizabeth fumbles with the buttons of my trousers, her breasts heaving with anticipation. Her hand brushes against me, and I am nearly undone. Tangling a hand in her hair, I emit a low hiss of breath at her touch. She has no idea what she does to me; how intoxicating she is.

It is uncomfortable for her at first, and she expects this, but when I move again her moan is no longer one of pain. She is tight, and I press closer until it is impossible to tell where I end and she begins. Our names are the only sounds on each other's lips, repeated over and over into the night. There is a pressure building between us, and her eyes are clenched shut as I kiss her, harder this time, more insistent with each thrust. There is no longer _me_ or _her_, but only _us_, and our release is swift and ragged with broken cries and shuddering limbs.

We lie entangled, as one, until our heartbeats find a matching rhythm. Only then do we move apart, coming to rest within each other's arms. Time has passed, for the sky is darkened, but exactly how much time, I do not know. The entirety of it has passed all too quickly.


	13. The First Morning

**Authoress' Note: **Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews I received for the last chapter. You all have no idea how nervous I was about posting that bloody thing. I'm so glad it's out of my hair now. XD Anyway, onward with the story! Please remember to review!

**The First Morning**

My eyes open suddenly to meet the bright morning light. Blinking, I wonder how on earth I could have awoken at such a peaceful hour, and then the reason becomes clear. A weight upon my chest finally makes itself known to me. Contentedly, I lean back into the pillows, watching Elizabeth's head rise and fall as I breathe deeply from the morning air. I place a light kiss on the top of her head, and her eyes flutter open at the touch.

"Good morning, Mrs. Norrington," I whisper, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Elizabeth smiles up at me, as she clutches the bed linens about her. The golden light plays across her bare shoulders, and I suddenly decide that I like the look of her mussed hair and nakedness. She is like Eve in the garden; the way God intended her to be. I watch her intently for a minute, as her face seems to go through a whole array of emotions. For a second her smile is radiant, and then her brows knit themselves together for a moment, only to be smoothed out in sudden blissfulness.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

Elizabeth props herself up on one elbow, still grasping the covers closely about her in an attempt at modesty. She looks down, opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

"I don't really know what I'm thinking, James," she says thoughtfully, "I suppose I was thinking about how wonderful last night was . . . It was everything . . . I had ever hoped it to be."

The words roll off her tongue slowly, and a tinge of pink creeps into her cheeks as she glances up at me. I turn over onto my back, attempting to hide the grin spreading across my face. She frowns, sitting indignantly, perhaps thinking that I am mocking her in some way.

"What is it?" she asks, the bed linens falling unceremoniously about her waist.

"I love you so much, Elizabeth," I say, the grin still plastered to my face. It can stay there for the rest of my life for all I care. "You do know that, don't you?"

Elizabeth's frown instantly turns to laughter as she flops down next to me, her hand reaching through the numerous covers and pillows to entwine with mine.

"Oh God, how couldn't I?"

---

Our long-awaited bliss is utterly short-lived. Not two weeks have passed before I receive a call of duty due to report the following morning. Elizabeth comes to the dock with me as she has on every other embarkation and unabashedly kisses me good-bye in front of my fellow officers. She does not cry this time, and I know it to be a mark of her ever-growing strength.

"I'll miss you," she says so that only I can hear, "I'll wait for you."

I take her hand in mine and kiss it reassuringly, "Don't worry about me. You're in good hands. Thomas will keep a good eye out whilst I'm gone."

"It's not me I'm worried about. You're the one who can't help running out into the heat of battle to play the hero. Haven't I told you more than once that I'm entirely too young to be a widow?"

"I love you," I say tilting her chin upward with my hand. She stares me down with a defiant eye.

"You haven't answered the question."

I sigh exasperatedly, and give my wife a peck on the cheek. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, but that's it. I can't promise I won't play the hero. It's much too fun not to do that, you know."

She rolls her eyes, but still throws her arms around my neck and kisses me again for good luck. My last glimpse of my wife is her small form waving from the docks, and then I am swept out to open ocean where I know I will not be able to communicate with Elizabeth for a long four months.

---

Our last port of call is a small Caribbean island not too many nautical miles away from Port Royal. In fact, I can see a few ships headed in that direction as we stand on the docks taking in the sights of our last shore leave before returning home. My eyes remain locked on a lone fishing boat slipping out across the water and into the mist. Not for the first time I long to be on it and on my way home.

Many of the crew are off to the nearest tavern, and I follow close behind them intending to have a drink or two before boarding the ship once again. Perhaps the alcohol will help the time pass more quickly, or if anything, it will knock me out until tomorrow morning.

The tavern is hot and filled to the brim with people. There is a makeshift stage set up across from the bar where an old man with an organ grinds out an unsavory tune whilst a young woman dressed in a dirty and fraying frock sings in a quavering high-pitched voice. A few men nearest to the stage throw out catcalls every phrase or so whilst guzzling down pints of ale. I head straight to the bar without another thought.

The bartender, a young man with brown hair swept into a low ponytail, turns to me. I stare, eyes wide with shock at the way the tables have been turned after all this time.

"William Turner?"

The young man, with those innocent brown eyes, gulps slightly and nods; setting down the glass he has been polishing. I wave my hand at it.

"I'll take a pint."

He nods, and turns away for a few minutes before setting down a frothing mug in front of me. I take it in two hands and gulp down half before realising that Will is staring at me from across the glass he is still cleaning.

"Cat got your tongue, Mr. Turner?" I ask good-naturedly. All the hatred I felt for this man at one time seems to have dissipated in mere seconds. Just seeing him in this God-forsaken place is enough to melt the worst of feuds to a puddle.

Will shakes his head and sets the glass down. He leans against the edge of the bar, a bemused smile on his lips.

"You know, I never thought I'd see you again, Commodore," he says, "At least, I certainly never thought I'd see you in a place like this." He nods at the group of ragamuffins by the stage who are getting rowdier by the minute.

"You're not the only one," I say, and raise my mug to him. "So, why are you here? I thought you'd gone to find your father."

Will nods, "Aye, I've done that part. You'd never believe where I found him though. That's a story for another day. The point is, I found him, and he's all right. For the past six months I've been following Jack Sparrow around, and I finally decided that I needed a rest. I knew I couldn't go to Port Royal, so I settled here. It's not much, but it will do for now."

He shrugs, and pours himself a mug of ale, though he doesn't drink much from it. I look down at my own mug, and then glance back up at the boy from so long ago, who is no longer a boy anymore. It is evident that he has seen more than I care to hear about.

I clear my throat, "And where is Mr. Sparrow?"

Will shrugs indifferently, "You know Jack. He goes where the wind takes him, and right now that's somewhere near Florida. All he mentioned was something about a fountain and everlasting life. Make of that what you will," Will grins and downs more ale, "I opted out of that trip in an attempt to settle down. Obviously, I haven't been successful."

I don't know what to say. In some way I realise that I have stolen the life that this man could have had. Will cocks his head, watching me, and I dare not look at him directly for fear of giving my guilt away.

"How is Elizabeth?"

The question, innocent enough, seems loud in my ears, louder than the singing and the catcalls combined. I look up at Will then. He is smiling contentedly, his hands clutching his mug close. I straighten up, and splay my hands on the table.

"She's wonderful," I say, looking him straight in the eye, "She is not the wayward girl you left behind all those years ago, nor the lost young woman you met back in Port Royal."

He nods, that bemused expression on his face again. "I figured as much. Somehow I knew she'd fall in love with you, even if she hadn't been inclined to the match before. There's something about you, Commodore, that fits her perfectly."

"Please, call me James," I say. I feel I owe him that much respect for all I have taken from him.

"James . . ." the name is foreign to his tongue, but he smiles as he says it, "Would you do me a favour?"

"Yes, of course," I reply.

"Would you tell her that I still love her? That I still think about her from time to time and that I have no regrets? As long as she is happy, I am happy."

I am not angry at his words, but rather sad again. I hold out my hand, and Will shakes it vigourously. "I will tell her as soon as I am home."

"Thank you, James."

**Authoress' Note: **LOL. You all thought it was over, right? 'Tis not so, my lovelies! The next chappie will probably be the last, but I couldn't end this thing without seeing Will one more time. I may ship Norribeth more often that Willabeth, but Willabeth is the OTP in canon, so I had to give it a final nod before sinking that ship all that way down.


	14. The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

**Authoress' Note: **My goodness, I never thought this day would come! (I just couldn't wait to post this!!) After spending nearly 2 years writing this thing and finally getting it up online it is done. To some extent at least. I'm still working away at that epilogue. Please review when you're done reading!

**The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives**

It is a wonderful feeling to finally see the busy docks of Port Royal and the Union Jack snapping in the wind at the fort. The excitement of telling Elizabeth about my encounter with Will is overwhelming, and as soon as we make berth I search for Elizabeth's face amongst the elegantly bejeweled officer wives waiting on the dock. When I do not see her, my excitement turns into an anxiety that gnaws away at my insides. I take the carriage, which has been sent from the house, and when I arrive home at last I hasten up the front steps to greet Betsy at the door.

"Good to see you, Sir!" she cries taking my hat, and stepping back expectantly, "You had a successful voyage?"

"Yes," I respond absently, looking about me at a complete loss. I had expected to find Elizabeth waiting for me, but it seems she is nowhere to be found. Betsy follows me inside, shutting the door behind her, and bustling about as though nothing were the matter.

"Is something wrong, Sir?"

"Yes," I repeat, unbuckling the sword about my waist, "Betsy, tell me, where is my wife?"

Her face instantly changes from one of concern to gentle sympathy as she takes the sword and its scabbard into both hands, "Don't worry yourself, Sir. The missus was feeling under the weather this morning and decided to rest up for your arrival."

I open my mouth to ask the one million questions that are suddenly on my mind, but decide it's best if I seek Elizabeth out myself. Betsy seems to have read my mind.

"She's in the bedroom," she says, and I turn on my heel and bound up the stairs two at a time.

I knock on the door to our bedroom and am greeted with an uncustomary silence. Carefully, I open the door, slip inside, and close it quietly behind me. Elizabeth stands with her back to me, gazing out of the great bay window toward my ship in the harbor. Her crisp white dressing gown flutters slightly in an unseen draft. I stare at her brown hair, which has been plaited down her back, a style that I have never seen her wear before. She turns her head toward me as I take a step farther into the room.

"I saw your ship come in," she says, her voice quiet in the oppressive silence of the house.

"Yes," I reply as though urging her to say something more.

After a slight pause in which she glances down at the busy harbour below she continues, "And how was your voyage?"

"Well enough. I -"

I mean to tell her about my chance meeting with Will, but the words can't seem to find their way to my mouth. The look on Elizabeth's face tells me that now would not be the best time to bring up Mr. Turner. I swallow the words I long to say and clasp my hands behind my back. The silence lengthens unbearably and still no explanation for her absence presents itself. Then I remember Betsy's words from earlier. I take another hesitant step toward her.

"Elizabeth, are you well? Betsy mentioned you were feeling a bit poorly."

"No," she says, turning from me again, her deep brown eyes reflected in the windowpane, "I am quite well, thank you."

Her last word comes out slightly choked, and with a jolt of surprise I realise she is crying. Before I can move to put my arms around her, to embrace her or comfort her, she turns to me again. Shining teardrops make streaks upon her pale cheeks, and she closes her eyes to stop their flow. Opening them again, she speaks in a voice so low that I must strain to hear every word.

"James," she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. She makes a sound that is half way between a sob and what sounds like laughter, "Oh, James . . . I . . . I'm going to have a baby."

Now she turns to me fully, and my eyes go instantly to her hands resting on a slight swell beneath the white gown. She smoothes the cloth over beneath her hands and cries even harder. I am at a loss for words. Never would I have expected such a homecoming or a reaction to news that should otherwise be joyous. Brows furrowed I search for something, anything, to say.

"I'm sorry," I offer, knowing it will either do more ill than good.

Elizabeth gives another half-sob half-laugh and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She gives me a watery smile, and taking one of my hands folds her self into me, so that I can feel the fluttering of life between us. It is a curious feeling, and I wonder how such a thing could cause her such heartbreak. Then everything becomes clear, as Elizabeth sighs, placing my hand underneath hers atop the swell of the gown.

"Why ever should you be sorry, James? I am not."

- Fin -

**Authoress' Note: **The end? Maybe? I'm not sure if I'm going to put that epilogue up, but this is definitely not the last you will see of me. I've grown very attached to this story, and I'm having a very hard time of letting it go, so you can definitely expect to see a list of "thank yous" or some other sort of nonsense that will make me teary-eyed and weepy.


	15. Epilogue

The wind whips at the slackening sails and sends sea spray flying as the _Dauntless_ cuts through the choppy waves. I have made this voyage many times in the past few years, and each time I have come home to something different – a distraught young woman, an anxious wife, a loving mother . . .

We weigh anchor a mile or so offshore, much too far away for me to glimpse anyone on the docks. The men are cheerful after such a successful journey, and many long for solid ground under their feet and ale in their hands.

The first of the longboats are lowered to the churning sea below, and I salute to each group of my men as they begin the hard row toward shore. Many salute back, and some wave their hats jovially.

"Godspeed, Admiral!" is the cry as I lower myself into a boat with my lieutenants in tow. A few men reach out and clap me on the back, and I nod my head in turn and salute once more. The trip to shore is one of the longest I've ever taken. As we near the docks my eyes search the crowd frantically before I spot them standing side by side. _My girls . . ._

As soon as we bump against the dock I spring from the boat and am swallowed by the tide of people. Elizabeth seems to have disappeared.

"Papa!"

Brows knit, I look around for the source of the small voice amongst the bellowing sailors and their chattering wives. There is a light tugging on the hem of my coat, and I crouch down to meet a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

Charlotte smiles happily, and throws her thin arms about my neck. I hug her to me and kiss the top of her head. She giggles and reaches up to touch the stubble on my chin.

"Papa, you're scratchy!" she cries, "Mama won't like that."

I rumple her hair, whose perfect waves have already been mussed by the wind. "Speaking of Mama, where is she?"

"Right here, James."

Her very voice brings a smile to my lips. Lifting Charlotte into my arms I turn to face my wife. Her eyebrow arches as she takes in my scruffy appearance, but she softens as soon as I lean in to give her a quick kiss.

"I missed you," she whispers.

"And I you."

Charlotte makes a face at me, and I poke her nose playfully. "I hope you didn't tire your Mama out too much while I was away."

Wide, solemn eyes meet mine.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Elizabeth laughs as Charlotte clambers from my arms and into hers as we walk down the dock to the carriage waiting on the cobblestones. She smoothes her gown out over her rounded belly, and hoists our daughter higher on her hip.

"If this one is anything like Her Ladyship here then I fear they shall be the death of me," she says with a laugh.

I open the door of the carriage, help Elizabeth up, and set Charlotte on the seat beside her before clambering in myself. As we jerk into motion Charlotte launches herself from her seat and scrambles into my lap.

"Papa, can I go to the fort with you today?" she asks.

I meet Elizabeth's tired, but smiling, eyes. "How about I take her with me for the afternoon so you can get some rest?"

"You'd take her alone?" Elizabeth asks, her eyebrows rising again.

"Why not?" I say with a shrug, as Charlotte curls up in my arms and looks up at me with those innocent eyes. "You of all people should know that there's a first time for everything."

- Official Fin -

---

**A Note From the Authoress:**

_Dear Reader,_

_Firstly, thank you for all the support and encouragement you have given me through out this ordeal of a novel. This was my first multi-chapter fic, and I couldn't be more proud of how it turned out. I spent an entire year in my French class, two years ago now, writing down this story on scrap paper. It has taken me just about another year to get his up for all of you to experience and read. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would hit 50+ reviews, yet here I am because of you. All of you have made this journey what it is. My one wish is that you get more than a good read out of what I have poured my heart, my soul, and my beliefs into. Thank you again for sticking with me to the end._

_**The Authoress,**_

_Larael_

**To My Rabid Reviewers: **Shay, Rock-Nye, damsel-in-stress, royalpinkdogs, IKeepGoldfishInMyBra, Mia-philosephet, DementedWaitingGnome, Nindae, Agent Maekere, SirenoftheStorm, Dinsoku, Jack!, Lady_Elizabeth, thelyra, Lyra Lupin, Juliet, christyfiction, freedom_sparks, PirateRN, Willofthewisp, xLady Jackal, Rex Luscus, and Nurr.

A million hugs, flowers, cookies, Snape plushies, etc. to all of you – and much love of course! (Gah. I'm getting weepy!)

**Where Will Larael Be in the Future:** I will be going off to university in the autumn, so most of my writing will be done during the summer. Considering my first love is Snape you can expect to see many additions to the series of oneshots calls "Drabbles on a Broken Heart". Also, since posting my first Star Trek 2009 oneshot, I have been asked to continue the story. That will probably be my second multi-chapter fic with approximately 11-15 chapters. Of course, this is probably not the end of Norribeth, just the end of this telling of their lives. Someday, maybe in the near future, I hope to write something from Elizabeth's point of view, as I've never done that before.

So, that's it. This whole thing has been a blast, and I hope to do it again some day. Thanks for keeping it real, and I'll see you around. Happy reading! _xoxo Larael_


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